


Something Old Book 4.5: A Big Universe of Suck

by Ducks



Series: Something Old [7]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Season, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-10
Updated: 2002-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducks/pseuds/Ducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was my fic-based reaction to the dreck of Angel Season 3 and Buffy Season 6, as seen through the eyes of the Something Old-verse Buffy and Angel. It was therapeutic at the time.</p><p>Buffy and Angel are trapped in the worst possible dimension -- where they aren't together, and everything about their lives is obscenely out of synch.  Without the power of their bond, can they find a way home? Can they fix what's wrong with the alternate reality? (Without setting fire to Mutant Enemy headquarters, that is? Just kidding. *G*)</p><p>After that, we follow the misadventures of the "canon" Buffy and Angel while they are "stuck" in the Something Old-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just How Did We Contract the Suckage?

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: There's some serious anti-Cordelia and anti-Spike sentiment in parts of this story. It's where I was at the time. ;)

Buffy sat down hard on the arm of one of the sofas, just completely unable to stand up under the strain of the past few days of pure HELL anymore, and stared at the redheaded 'recovering witch' who, in another (WAY better) reality, was her best friend.

"I still don't think I understand," Willow was repeating for possibly the hundredth time. "You mean... in some other world, all of us are... like... an army or something?"

Buffy moved closer to the familiar stranger. "Sort of. There's some of us here, in LA... Angel, Wes, Cordy, Gunn, Doyle..." She flashed a look at Angel, but saw nothing register on his face. "And in Sunnydale, Faith, you guys, Dawn, Spike..."

She glanced nervously around the Hyperion's lobby at all the faces gathered there, each regarding her with the same assorted looks of confusion and disbelief that she had been seeing on and off since her and Angel's arrival.

Reaching out by old habit through the soul link that bound her and her mate, she was almost sick all over again when she remembered... she couldn't *do* that, here. There was nothing but a static-y haze in the place where the bond usually hummed, a comforting sound like a constant lullaby in her blood. Like it had since the first time she realized she couldn't just whisper in his mind, or see or feel what he was thinking or feeling, the loss of that connection hit her like someone reached into her chest and ripped her heart out. Or like being maced, having a complete nervectomy, and having hot wax poured in her ears all at once.

But the bond was still there, however unclear and untrained. The same connection that had always drawn them together, since the first time they met... it was just enough to keep her from going totally insane and killing all these strangers wearing her friends' and family's faces. That, in combination with the fact that he was sitting so closely beside her, she was practically on top of him.

Which, here, wasn't the best idea. Whatever his other self had managed to pull off with Cordelia. She glowered fiercely at the thought.

The natural tie between them was also enough for Angel to get her nonverbal cue to pick up where she left off, and he leaned toward the little throng, who had gathered in Los Angeles, looking for answers to the sudden twisting of their respective realities.

He looked around at them. So many familiar faces... a few new ones... and so many important ones missing. Giles... Oz... Faith...

Doyle.

Every difference, every loss, was heartbreaking and disconcerting, but above and beyond all of those was the biggest shock of all - his son was sleeping obliviously three stories above their heads. His *child*. His actual flesh and blood, whatever the prophecies in this reality might foretell that would mean in years to come. His *son*...

The souled vampire forced himself to push aside the thought of little Connor, and speak.

"It's more complicated than that. Far more complicated."

Wesley sighed. Of all of them, he was the one who had gotten the least sleep, thanks to nearly 72 hours straight of research. "Well, we do understand the differences in our dimensions... so why don't we dispense with rehashing the obvious, and rather, spend some time finding out how the situation as such came to pass, shall we? Perhaps from the beginning."

Buffy and Angel exchanged a look - how could they *possibly* explain something even they didn't understand?

"Well..." Buffy began, "It really started freshman year, when Willow cast that spell to have her will done. Only... this time she didn't wish that me and Spike would..."

She trailed off at the late-vampire's name. Angel promptly took over.

"She wished that Buffy and I would be honest with one another and work things out. We did."

This wasn't news to the gathered heroes - they had all already come face to face with the reality of Buffy and Angel's bond. Their unwillingness to leave the vampire and Slayer alone for more than five minutes at a time stood as perfect testament to that.

Fred shook her head, and spoke for all of them. "That's all really interesting and everything... but don't you think we oughta skip to the part that got you here now?"

"And to where the *real* Angel is," Cordelia complained, speaking for the first time since the gathering began. She sat apart from the others, her arms crossed over her chest.

Buffy glared at the ex-cheerleader-cum-visionary... as she had many, many times since their arrival in this reality. What she really wanted to do was gouge her eyes out, rip off her arms, and tear her over-frosted hair out by the roots. But... focus. It wasn't the Big Bitch's fault that the Angel in this reality had obviously gone totally loco. Or... maybe it was, but it was irrelevant, right now.

"Well, we got this package a few weeks ago..." she began, reaching up to twist her hair around her hand, as had become her habit, and freaked yet *again* when she remembered that it was no longer waist length, but now barely touched her shoulders.

Angel nodded, "But that came *after* the demon's threat in the cave. We should start with that."

The Slayer gave him a look of pure adoration that required no soul bond for him to feel. He did his best to smile for her, and reached out to take her hand.

"Yeah," she said softly, "We should start there."


	2. The First Signs of Suckage - It's a Long Way Down

A Week Earlier

"BUFFY, DOWN!"

As soon as the Slayer dropped into a tight ball and rolled out of the line of fire, Angel leapt into a spinning kick, rather neatly removing the Flesheater's head. Both warriors watched the gory projectile fly across the cavern and hit the far wall with a wet crunch, then land on the floor with a thud.

"Ew," Buffy commented, then shot Angel a grin. "Nice kick, Angel-san. You have learned well."

He gave her a courtly bow, and held out a hand to help her up. "It's my duty and pleasure to watch your back, milady."

She took the proffered hand and let him pull her to her feet. Giving him a good once over for injuries, she brushed the cave dirt off her jeans.

"Um... just for the record? If you had been looking at my *back*, that thing wouldn't have gotten so close."

Her vampire took a step closer and gave her a smirk. "And what, exactly, were *you* looking at that *you* didn't sense them, oh Chosen One?"

She grinned. "Your tonsils, mostly."

Chuckling, Angel tucked his lover beneath his arm and headed toward the entrance to the catacombs where they had spent their evening hunting. "So, Buffy Summers, you just saved the world... again. What do you want to do now?"

The smile she gave him as she looked adoringly up into his eyes warmed his heart to its foundation, as did the wave of love and desire that washed through their link. She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze.

"What I want to do, we'd get arrested for doing in Disneyland," she purred.

Angel laughed and kissed the top of her head. "Not if we time it right."

Buffy's mouth dropped open in mock indignation. "Angel! Are you suggesting we show blatant disregard for the law, not to mention emotionally scarring young children and *fornicate* in the happiest place on Earth?"

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Admittedly - but he would do so only to himself - the lingering effects of Buffy's recent foray into soullessness were more than a little... stimulating. Her libido sometimes took him by surprise, as did her newfound abandon as to how, when and where they 'got nekkid', as she called it. There wasn't much Angel hadn't experienced sexually in 250 years, but what little he hadn't was being systematically eliminated by his nearly insatiable mate.

Of course, she was right in pointing out that their ill-timed make-out session just now nearly cost them their heads, but... he had often said that danger added spice.

They reached the entrance to the tunnel by which they had entered the demon nest, and Angel suddenly stopped to examine the jutting edges of rock more closely.

Buffy sighed, fidgeting from one foot to the other as she hung back. "Sensing a disturbance in the Force, Obi Wan?"

He shot her a look out of the corner of his vision. "Something doesn't smell right."

Letting her go, he moved closer to the glistening volcanic rock before them, peering deeply into the smoother parts of its surface.

"Fine, Rin Tin Tin. You go ahead and check it out. I want a shower like, yesterday," she huffed and began to move past him into the corridor. Sweat, she could handle - especially the kind they would generate when they got home. But demon muck was another matter entirely. She didn't subject herself to a whole lot of rules, but one of them was definitely, 'no sex while coated in demon glop.'

His hand shot out to stay her movement. "Buffy, don't."

Too late. The moment one of her chunky-heeled boots came to rest in the passage, the air exploded into blinding red light.

When the lovers came to, they were firmly chained, side-by-side, to the cavern wall.

"Well," Buffy declared, "That pretty much sucked."

Angel gave her another look. "I didn't tell you to wait for my own amusement."

She dismissed his criticism, and tried to get a handle on what had happened. "Handy spell. No muss, no fuss capture. We should have Will and Tara look into learning that." She rattled her chains.

"Mm," Angel replied thoughtfully, giving his own shackles a tug. "If we ever get out of here."

"You know, this might actually be fun... if one of us was *un*chained," Buffy sighed, "So, who do you think our generous host for this fun filled expedition into B&D could be?"

A cold, reptilian laugh echoed through the cave. "You will see," it informed them, "You will know. You will believe."

"Mmkaaaay..." Buffy commented.

"Demon portents of doom really don't improve over centuries," Angel observed wryly.

"You will see," the disembodied voice repeated, "You will believe."

"So... do we *have* to see it to believe it?" Buffy quipped, "Or can you just... you know, tell us about it? Because this isn't really a comfortable observation position."

"I have a feeling we might not *want* to see it, Buffy," Angel advised her. He glanced around the cavern. Nothing about the chamber had changed, other than the shackles. Even the Flesheater carcass remained where they'd left it, melting against the far wall, its severed head grimacing at them from a few feet away.

Buffy gave him a mental kick in response.

'Ow,' he replied in the same fashion. 'Okay, new rule: no soul punching while we're being held captive by invisible demons, okay?'

'You know,' she mused, ignoring his complaint, 'I don't think these chains are magick. Maybe together we can break them? And... it was a kick.'

'Fine. No kicking, then.'

Angel tugged at his chains again. Something here was entirely too simple... a demonic voice, non-magickal chains, and... what else? He doubted they had stumbled into a magickal booby trap by pure chance. But there was no other scent in the air but the slight funk of the creature they'd just killed. Even the odor he'd noticed near the exit - no doubt a sign of the trap itself - was gone.

But that voice... something about it seemed so familiar...

"You do not know us," it called out, as though reading his thoughts. Having someone other than Buffy do that was not a sensation he was comfortable with. "We know who you are. We know what you have done."

"Great," Buffy complained. "Spiney was probably invited. It's gotta be a breach of etiquette to kill the dinner guests."

"Not if the guests *are* dinner," Angel opined.

She knew that he knew exactly what that meant.

"You do not amuse us," Inviso-lizard informed them. "You will know. What might have been shall be."

"Can't say I like the sound of that," Angel muttered.

"A little too temporal-foldy for my taste," Buffy agreed.

'Don't say those words out loud,' Angel chastised her across the link, a wave of irrational fear emphasizing his words.

'Sorry. So. How about that plan you were working on?'

'I didn't have a plan.'

'Oh, right. That was me. Superpowers... chain-breaking. Well... now might be a good time. You wanna give or receive?'

They had discovered through their studies with Grandmother and the Pack over the summer that the sharing of energy they'd experienced spontaneously when one or the other of them was in danger could be consciously controlled when the need arose. One of them could lend their strength and power to the other, making the recipient nigh invulnerable.

Of course, it left the sender weak and barely coherent, but... they were working on that.

'I'll give. On three,' Angel began, 'One...'

'Two...'

The shackles suddenly released and rattled to the ground, leaving both vampire and Slayer free.

Buffy shot him a nervous look. "I didn't do that. Did you do that?"

Angel shook his head, taking a moment to sniff the air once more. "Whatever was here is gone. I can't sense any residual magick."

"Somehow, that doesn't really decrease the wig factor," Buffy asserted, taking his hand. "I vote for getting the Hell out of here before Mr. You Have To See To Believe comes back." She brightened noticeably. "Shower time now?"

Angel nodded, and allowed her to lead him out of the chamber, but he couldn't dismiss the unease that crawled like bugs under his skin.

'What might have been shall be.' He in no way liked the sound of that.

~~~~~

"Gee. Another gloom and doom prophecy about Buffy and Angel. Color me completely shocked," Cordelia sniped, not bothering to look up from her computer as she transcribed the champions' latest supernatural misadventure. "What's that, like, number 43 gazillion? Just so I know how to code it correctly. And... would you say that was a direct threat, or more of a dangling maybe-we'll-kill-you-in-the-very-near-future sort of thing?"

Doyle gave her a look. "That how you catalogue stuff? No wonder nobody can find anything in that machine."

"We don't know," Angel sighed, collapsing into his favorite chair. "It might have been nothing more than demon bravado. But there's no way to tell if we don't know what the creature was... it set us free before it showed us anything."

Wesley sat at the opposite desk from Cordelia, madly cross-referencing as he half-listened to their conversation. Narrowing the list of creatures that wanted the Slayer, and/or Angel, dead, was quite akin to...

"S'like parin' down a list of politicians to figure out which ones might be crooked," Doyle remarked from under his own pile of books. "Everybody wants them offed."

"Gee, thanks," Buffy snapped.

"It's not quite *that* difficult," Wesley corrected the half-demon. "Consider that a Baktavian Flesheater was hunting in the nest... they're notoriously picky eaters. Only the young of a handful of creatures are palatable."

"Creepy Voice Guy could have been an outsider, too," Faith chimed in, abandoning the video game she had been playing on Angel's computer to peer over Wesley's shoulder. "Could have been hunting there. Or... it could have followed you."

"Maybe," Angel agreed worriedly, "The parent-demon was conspicuously absent, though. Maybe whatever captured us killed it first."

Buffy looked around at her friends. "It said we needed to see something, but it never gave up the goods."

Before they could pass yet *another* four hours in speculation, Spike arrived, barreling up from the basement, carrying a cardboard box.

"Avon calling," he announced, tossing it to Angel, "Your 'Whore Red' lipstick came in, Peaches."

Angel was too busy studying the package warily to reply. Buffy moved beside him to look at it, then up at him.

"What's that?" Faith asked, coming closer.

"Dunno," Spike said, "Found it by the sewer entrance. Figured it was for the poufter."

'I don't sense anything weird,' Buffy thought.

'Neither do I. And it smells like... cardboard and Styrofoam,' Angel replied.

"Maybe you two should start buying your sex toys in person, like normal freaks," Spike grumbled, then wandered off toward the kitchen.

"Hold up," Faith interrupted, looking more closely at the box. "That writing on top looks kinda familiar."

At the mention of writing, Wesley appeared, taking the box from Angel to examine it.

"Hm. I don't recognize the alphabet. Angel? Proto-Bantian, perhaps?"

The vampire shook his head. "No. There are a lot more dotted letters in Proto-Bantian."

"I'm sure I've seen it before," Faith cut in, then added, a little bashfully, "At the Mayor's place."

"Is it ticking?" Cordelia called out from the office.

"Most magickal traps *don't* give a convenient warning noise, Cordelia," Wesley reminded her sharply.

"Actually... that thing that blew up Darla's limo a few months back made a pretty obvious whine first," Doyle recalled. "Otherwise we all woulda been chopped meat... and dust. A vampire/half-demon/human meatloaf, kinda."

"Be that as it may," Wesley replied as he wandered back into the office, gesturing to Faith to follow. "Faith, why don't you take a look at some of the demon language annals, and see if you find anything similar to this."

The secondary Slayer rolled her eyes, but complied. "What, Wes, suddenly you can't read?"

"No, actually, I can't," he volleyed back, easing into his chair once more. "Each time I look at the markings, the writing appears quite different. When first I saw it, it looked to be Proto-Bantian, as I said. Now it appears to be some sort of cuneiform writing I'm unfamiliar with."

Angel and Buffy came in to join them, looking over Wesley's shoulder at the box -- it was slightly smaller than a breadbox... and wrapped in plain, brown paper.

"It looks the same to me," Buffy observed with a shrug.

"Me too," Faith agreed.

"Same here," Angel added.

Their chorus made Wesley look up and glance at each of them in turn.

"Perhaps we should have Spike join us," he said.

Realization dawned on Angel's face. "Only the four of us can see it."

Faith sighed. "I'll go get Billy Boy. He's gonna love this."


	3. The Suck Walks in Without Knocking

Several hours, and countless failed attempts to decipher the writing on the box later, the Los Angeles arm of Armageddon, Inc. (as Gunn had taken to calling it. The nickname hadn't much caught on.) gathered in the Hyperion's basement. Wesley cordoned off the boiler room, casting warding and binding spells to prevent whatever magick was inside the box from activating when he opened it, while the others hovered anxiously near the door.

The plan had been to dampen whatever charms were present, then open the package and see what was inside. Angel tried to insist on joining he and Doyle in the dangerous venture, but the ex-Watcher firmly explained that the package was meant for the four members of the Gate, and for that reason alone, none of them should be involved.

And so, Faith, Spike, Angel, Buffy waited...with Cordelia, who had shown no interest in assisting at all.

"I just hope it doesn't turn Doyle into something icky," Cordelia complained from her perch on the workbench, where she was filing her nails. "That would totally ruin our anniversary."

"Yeah," replied Faith, who was occupying herself by doing pull-ups on one of the water main pipes, "Wrecking your big annual scrogathon is definitely priority number one worry."

"I don't think the package is harmful in that way," Angel tried to reassure her, "It was meant for us, not Doyle."

"Do you think maybe it's a thank you gift from the demon whose nest we saved?" Buffy suggested hopefully.

The others shot her matching 'are you kidding?' looks. Angel sent her a soft, dismissive pat through the link.

"Just trying to be optimistic," she defended with a shrug.

A moment later, Doyle and Wesley came out of the boiler room. The seer had his hands behind his back.

"Well?" Spike snapped, stepping out of the cage on the far side of the basement. "What is it? Got better things to do than spending the rest of eternity in the basement of the Hotel Poufter."

Doyle glared at him briefly, then turned to the others. "We got your cosmic time bomb."

He brought his hidden burden into view, and everyone present stared at it in absolute shock.

"It's... a teddy bear," Buffy observed.

The half-demon set the little brown bear on the nearby tool bench, and produced a small parchment card from his pocket.

"Actually, it's a charm," Wesley explained. "A Farvatian Protection Charm, to be precise. The Vestusa Litmus spell identified it most clearly. The magick on the toy is innocuous."

"Huh," commented Cordy, gingerly picking up the bear. "It's cute."

"Even came with a note," Doyle informed them, holding up the card. "Looks like young Buffy wasn't so far off the mark with her theory. It says, 'For all you do.' Sounds like a thank you note to me."

"Or a 'thanks a lot, don't worry, you'll die soon you bastards' note," Faith suggested.

Angel was more of that opinion himself, and none too keen to simply accept the gift as innocent. He'd seen far too many things in his time - the past year or so especially - to dismiss such a mysterious message.

"'Cordy, put it down," he commanded softly, and looked around at the others. "Let's not forget the spell on the box - in a language none of us can read, and few of us can even see correctly. That's not exactly the sort of magick you put on a thank you gift."

The ex-cheerleader dropped the bear as if it had bitten her, and quickly backed away to where Doyle was standing. She gave him a concerned once over.

"All my parts are intact and fully functional," he grinned, putting his arm around her. "Though we might want to run a test or two, just to be sure." She gave him a half-hearted smile.

Wesley reclaimed the bear, turning it over and over in his hands. "I was skeptical as well, however..." he looked up at the dark-haired vampire and held the gift out to him. "The Litmus is nearly foolproof."

"Good thing," Spike grumbled, and lit up a smoke.

Angel looked at the bear as if it were a big bowl of holy water, and didn't make a move to accept it. "It could still be some kind of timed magick, and the protection charm is just masking it. Or... there could be a trigger we haven't found yet."

Buffy snorted and grabbed the bear. "You know, honey, maybe not *every* creature in the universe wants to slice, dice, zap or chop us into convenient bite-sized pieces." She smiled reassuringly up at him. "Maybe someone really is grateful we helped them. For a change."

He let his continued doubt; concern -- and now mild irritation -- flow clearly through the link.

"Then why didn't they sign the card?" Cordelia wondered aloud from her safety zone behind Doyle's back.

"Maybe they didn't want credit," Doyle replied. "Anonymous thanks, like."

"Well, one way or another, unless it starts talking or attacking us or something, I'm keeping it," Buffy announced, giving the toy an affectionate squeeze, and completely blocking Angel's continued arguments within the link. "We could use something cute and cheery around here."

The others dispersed, heading upstairs. Angel hung back for a moment, his instinct to protect Buffy still nagging at him. She looked back from the foot of the steps.

"You coming, sailor?" she invited in her patented 'sultry vixen' voice.

Angel had to admit, the incongruous sight of his lover making bedroom eyes at him while clutching a teddy bear touched some of his kinkier sensibilities. Maybe she was right - after all, they really had done a lot of good around the city. Maybe there was nothing more to the toy than what it purported to be; a symbol of someone's gratitude.

Or maybe not.

"Angel..." she purred, then switched to the link. 'Come to bed. You worry too much.'

He walked slowly toward her, cupped her face in his hands, and bent down for a soft, lingering kiss.

"That's my job," he whispered.

~~~~~

"Yes. Baby, yes! Please... harder..."

"Mmmmm. No. Not yet."

"Angel... God, you're killing me!"

He chuckle-groaned, "I... think... you can take it. God... oh, God, Buffy."

He managed - and not easily - to retain the easy rhythm of their coupling, driven to the brink of control by the sight of her on her hands and knees before him, her back arched, her head flung back as she fought to wrest control of their pace from him.

But he wouldn't let it go... not yet. Slow, lazy interludes were few and far between, these days. Ever since she lost and then regained her soul, Buffy's propensities had shown a marked increase in the categories of "fast" and "brutal". While he enjoyed that, too, he also loved to take her slowly, gently like this, so he could feel every small movement, every sigh and moan and clutch of her muscles, inside and out.

He ran a gentle fingertip down her spine from neck to waist, and then reached around to pull her upright, her back pressed tightly against his chest. Her sweat slicked the friction between them, as she slid up and down, meeting his shallow thrusts up into her.

Buffy dropped her head back on his shoulder, and snaked her hand around to tangle in his hair.

"Angel..." she moaned.

He claimed her mouth fiercely with his own, plumbing its warm, moist depths with his tongue, and let his hands smooth up to cup and tease her breasts.

"So beautiful..." he sighed into her lips. "I love you so much. Do you know? Can you feel what being part of you does to me?"

"Yes... oh, God, yes," she groaned in reply, rocking her body harder against him. "I... love you... Angel. Please. PLEASE!"

He finally relented, slipping one hand down to her belly to gain better purchase, while the other moved lower. His fingers delved into the hot, wet curls at the juncture of her thighs, and found the throbbing flashpoint of her pleasure. As he worried it in long, gentle strokes in time with their joining, he felt the responding clamping of her inner muscles. It was more than his thin threads of control could bear.

With a snarl, he pushed her torso roughly to the mattress, and with his hand planted on the back of her neck, keeping her submissive beneath him, her hindquarters forced high into the air, he slammed into her so hard that he could smell the blood of bruises forming on his hipbones.

He didn't care. The combination of sensations... her impending orgasm blending with his own in the core of their shared essence... the scent of their intermingled musks... the fierce clenching and unclenching of her muscles, both inside and out... were all that existed in the universe. Hard or gentle, fast or languid, being as much a part of Buffy's body as he was of her soul always consumed him utterly with mindless, animalistic passion.

She rocked back to meet his brutal assault with every ounce of her own considerable strength, driving him so deep and hard into her, she could swear he was impaling her heart. Another blast of pleasure heralded, and she threw her head back, whipping his chest with her sweat-soaked hair.

"AH! ANGEL! YES!" she bellowed - and the tidal wave took her, warping her words into one long, feral cry that shook the windows of their bedroom.

"Buffy... Christ... De, ta mothu an go math sin. An go math sin, leannan, CHODAIL! ANOIS MO GRA! "

He let go and their climax coalesced into a single, searing storm of perfect bliss. Crying out to one another as they plunged over the precipice, reality exploded into a hailstorm of stars all around them.

When Angel reluctantly released her, Buffy flopped over onto her back with a contented sigh. He settled on his stomach beside her, one arm and leg flung possessively over her body as he nuzzled her neck.

"That... *rocked*," she panted.

"Wholly and completely," he agreed sleepily. "I never thought it was possible, but you just keep getting more and more incredible."

Buffy lay perfectly still in his embrace and just listened to the waning bursts of fire and comfort that still pulsed through the link between them. Her bond with Angel was never stronger than in this moment, when the ecstasy of lovemaking released all the artificial walls they held around their beings day-to-day... when she could feel his cool seed warming with her body heat, and she could smell herself on his skin. Never were they closer to being a single entity than in these perfect, peaceful moments of afterglow.

She reached out and took the mysterious bear from the nightstand and stared at it.

"You know... this is going to sound really dumb," she began.

Angel lifted his head from her shoulder and gave her an affectionate smile. "Good way to preface something you want me to pay attention to, Ionuin."

She rolled her eyes at him, and then sobered again, setting the bear on her belly so they could both see it. Her tone was wistful as she went on.

"Sometimes... when we make love? I could swear it was so powerful that something new could be... I don't know... created out of it, I guess."

He sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, reaching out to gently caress her flushed face. It was times like this... when he could hear her old dreams humming at the edges of her consciousness, that he longed to tell her about the Shanshu prophecy. How he would love to give her the tiny gift of hope that someday, all this death and violence would be over, their duties fulfilled, and maybe they could finally have the chance to fulfill them.

"I know," he finally replied. "I feel it too."

But he couldn't tell her. Not now... not until they were sure what it meant. To give her that hope, and somehow see it never come to fruition...

That was a heartbreak he wasn't certain he could bear himself. He certainly wouldn't share it with his beloved, when she had already lost so much in her life. Better for her to dream... than to have those dreams shattered definitively forever.

Keeping the secret from her, however, became more and more difficult as their bond grew stronger. There was little inside of him - shadowed or not - that she hadn't seen... and accepted. How long would it be before she found that final tightly locked box that he kept from her?

"Do you ever wonder?" she asked softly, "I mean... what it would be like?"

He settled back on the pillows, and absently stroked her hair. "You already know the answer to that."

Buffy rolled over to look at him, still holding the toy bear to her breast. "I guess so. Just... sometimes I think about... how things could have been different, you know? What if you'd stayed human? Or... what if Willow had never cast that spell? Would we ever have gotten back together? Would we have kids now, or would I be dead? And I don't just wonder how all of that would effect us... what would have happened to the world if we had never been bonded?"

Angel turned to face her, a little taken aback that her mind had turned in that direction. Frankly, he couldn't imagine a world without her in it. Couldn't even fathom what he or his unlife might have been had they not walked the path they had together. Of course there was still some part of him that looked at those 'what ifs' - from their Day together to the restoration of her soul. So many minute changes in direction might have made everything different.

He took the bear from her hands and put it back on the nightstand, then settled beside her so they were face-to-face and eye-to-eye.

'Don't waste your life with 'what ifs', Ionuin. Believe me... I know what that leads to. I wouldn't change a moment that we've spent together.'

She smiled and softly caressed his cheek with a fingertip. 'Me either.'

Angel kissed her then, pulling her tiny body tightly into his arms. As their essences once again reached out to one another, he thought - even with all he knew about alternate dimensions and timelines, there could simply be no other reality beyond their incredible Right Here, Right Now. The soft comfort of her lips, the loving strength of her hands as they slid over his cool skin, leaving a trail of warmth and succor in their wake.

No... there couldn't possibly be a world where they weren't together. Such an abomination would be worse than a thousand Hells.

"It doesn't matter," he whispered in her ear, "No matter where we were... no matter what, we would find our way back to one another. Always."

They closed their eyes and lost themselves in the certainty that all the 'what ifs' in the universe couldn't keep them from one another.

~~~~~

A blinding flash of light exploded behind Angel's eyes. He tore them open and pulled away from her warmth.

"Buffy, what..."

But the big, brown -- VERY angry -- eyes that stared back at him weren't Buffy's at all.

"WHAT did you just call me?" a shorthaired (NAKED!) Cordelia hissed from her place in his arms.

~~~~~

Agony ripped through Buffy's skull.

"ANGEL!" she cried, slapping her hands over her eyes and rolling away from him.

"Christ, Slayer, at least have enough common bloody courtesy to not call me THAT wanker's name! That goes a bit beyond the boundaries of good kink, ya know?"

Buffy's burning eyes popped open to focus on Spike glowering at her from beside her on the...

Bed. She backed away. Not her and Angel's bed. She looked around - a bed in a CRYPT! She looked back at Spike - NAKED SPIKE ON A BED IN A CRYPT!

And last, she looked down at her own nudity.

"Oh, my God," she moaned, closing her eyes again. "This is SO not good."


	4. The Suck Moves in and Kicks its Muddy Boots Up On the Coffee Table

"ARNNGH!" Angel bellowed, shoving the nude woman away. "C-cordy, what the Hell are you..."

It was then that he noticed that he was in an equally unclothed state. And he could smell the combined scents of the two of them...

He made the same horrified noise again, frantically trying to protect his modesty with nothing but his hands -- the bedclothes were nowhere to be found.

Cordelia - or at least, she *looked* like Cordelia - was clearly a cross between furious and resigned as she reached over to snatch her blouse up off the floor and yank it down over her head.

"That is IT! I KNEW this was a stupid idea, but noooo... Angel SWEARS, 'Oh, I'm over Buffy, it's time to move on!' and I'm actually stupid enough to BUY it! God!" She turned her tirade on him; "You're SUCH a BASTARD!"

"But... but..." Angel stammered, slowly backing away. "I don't...."

"You don't WHAT?!" she ranted on, "Don't know what the HELL you're DOING? Gee, there's a newsflash! I can't BELIEVE YOU!"

"Look, Cordy," he tried to interrupt in his own defense.

She was having none of it. She tugged on her skirt and leapt from the bed in one angry motion.

"I don't want to hear it, okay?" She bent down to root around in the piles of bedding scattered all over the floor. "I TOLD you this would happen! I TOLD YOU that sooner or later, you were going to be with me, and we would be doing *that*, and you would call me --" she spun on him, "HER name!"

"Okay, that's IT!" he shouted back, pulling the comforter around his hips as he rose from the bed. "Just what the Hell is going on, here? What are you doing in my BED?!"

Cordelia froze at his tone. Angel did *not* -- *EVER* -- shout at her. She scrunched her eyes up at him.

"What am I doing in your bed? Hm, let's see. You, naked. Me, naked. Bed. Rumpled sheets. Nail gouges in your back. I don't know... oh, wait! It must be YAHTZEE NIGHT AT THE HYPERION! Boy, those Parker Brothers games sure can get out of hand if you're not careful!"

He jerked as though she'd slapped him, and the full implications of what she was saying hit him like an avalanche. "You mean... I...we... but... WHY?"

The ex-cheerleader's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "WHY? **WHY!??** What happened to, 'Oh, Cordelia, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen' or 'Cordelia, every time I look at you I just want you more'? It's not like this is NEW, Angel! We've been sleeping together for over a month! Isn't it a little late for SECOND THOUGHTS?"

Her shrieking was ripping through his head like a rusty blade, and in no way improving on his already frenetically confused state of mind. "No. There's no way." He turned away from her and began searching for his own abandoned clothing. When he stood, he came up with the ugliest baby blue pullover and navy khakis he had ever seen. "These aren't my clothes," he insisted weakly. "These are hideous."

He could have sworn that she growled before she launched into another round of shouting at the top of her lungs. "Excuse me, Ralph Lauren, but do you think you could focus on the fact that you're acting like a CRACK FIEND!?"

Angel forced himself to look at her once more. "What did you do to your hair?"

'Oh, yes, that's good. At least you have your priorities straight,' some clearer - and infinitesimal, by this point - part of his mind mocked. 'Don't worry about the fact that you're in BED with your best friend's GIRLFRIEND, by any means. Ask her again about her hair.'

Cordelia frantically touched her coif. "What? My hair? Why?" Then, she blinked at him. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head and glanced away. "No. I'm really not."

Her expression shifted in less than a heartbeat to one of abject terror. She held up her hands - a defensive gesture he sort of wanted to make himself, actually - and started backing toward the door.

"Uh... right." She glanced behind her to gauge her progress before peering back at him once more. "So... I'll just, uh... go somewhere... else... until you feel better, 'kay?"

From his own fear - but unfortunately still covered in nothing but the comforter, which significantly hampered his movement - he stumbled after her with a growl.

"Hold on a minute!"

"Um... how about... NO?!" Cordelia barked the last word, spun, and bolted out into the hall, slamming the door behind her, screaming, "WESLEY, GET THE TRANQ GUN! NOW!"

Angel blinked at the still-shuddering door, and then sank down onto the bed, the last of his energy gone. He took a few deep breaths and looked around.

It was his and Buffy's room, all right, but different... a hundred tiny details out of place. Pieces he never remembered buying... things of Buffy's conspicuously absent: her stuffed animals, her cheerleading trophies, bronzed Mr. Pointy.

Worse, his lover's scent was nowhere to be found. All he could smell was Cordelia and himself. She said... they were sleeping together? How was that possible? What could have happened to him to drive him to such a heinous...

His mouth dropped open at the dawning of a horrible realization.

The teddy bear.

Before he could process that thought any further, there was a sound that chilled him so deeply, he could no longer think at all.

A baby crying.

Shaking, he got up to follow the noise. Walked through the door to the little sitting room off the bedchamber...

And found not Buffy's dressing room, but a nursery. Complete with an actual live, shrieking infant in a crib near the window. Stunned, he walked over to it, and glanced down.

Pink and smooth, swaddled in soft, white blankets covered with little blue ducks. A human baby. And yet... he knew without a doubt that the child was his.

"Mo Dia..." he gasped.

~~~~~

"What? Don't tell me you didn't love that," Spike rumbled, reaching out for her. "You were screaming like a damn banshee on X."

"Wh... Wh... What..." Buffy stammered.

His hand cupped her breast, and she slapped it away, snapping instantly out of her stunned stupor. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

The blond vampire grinned. "Ah, so it's like that, is it? Want to play Helpless Victim again? S'my favorite, too." And with a snarl, he lunged for her.

It was instinct, she thought later. What else could she have done? Spike had her *naked*. In a *crypt*. He was in full game face, growling at her. There was a broken pair of handcuffs hanging off the headboard, and the room looked like a cyclone had hit it - signs of a struggle, in her opinion. She didn't take time to think, she only acted from years of training and force of habit, which summarized nothing more than simply: ATTACKING - OBVIOUSLY CHIPLESS - VAMPIRE! Who had, by all appearances, cast some kind of spell or enchantment on her and then raped her.

There was no way she could have done anything different. She kicked him in the head, shattered one of the bedposts...

And staked him.

She saw his eyes go wide with shock as he exploded into dust. Yeah, that's right; pal, she'd thought numbly. It's been a long time coming.

But when his ashes had settled on the floor of the tomb, she started trembling with her own shock. Collapsing into the grime, she huddled, nude, clutching her arms protectively to her chest.

Spike had evidently assaulted her.

She just staked Spike... oh God, what was Faith going to say?

Why should she care what Faith said?

Where was she? Where was Angel?

By habit, she desperately reached for him across the link.

Nothing. A vague sense of his existence, somewhere far away, but that was all. There was no comforting answer to her urgent cry for help.

"Angel..." she whispered, and burst into tears.

~~~~~

He was still standing there, wrapped in the blanket, staring down at this impossible child in a catatonic daze, when the rest of his family burst into the suite.

"He's TOTALLY lost it!" Cordelia was explaining breathlessly.

"Angel?" Wesley called from the outer room, "Are you all right?"

He heard them gather in the doorway behind him. Smelled their fear, and knew its name. He heard the negligible straining sound of a bolt being loaded into the crossbow Wesley or Gunn no doubt held in their hand... the clinking of chains... their terrified heartbeats.

"Yo, Angel... you okay, man?"

"He looks pale. I mean... pale-ER. But I didn't think vampires could really flush or anything," a strange woman's voice mused.

He barely paid them any attention - all of his consciousness was focused upon the wee, mewling enigma in the crib.

"How..." he breathed, swallowing the sudden desert that had sprung up in his throat, "Wh-whose child is this?"

"SEE?" Cordelia cried, "When I said 'lost it', I meant like, his mind AND his soul!"

"Mm. No, honey, I don't think that's it," Lorne cut in, "Otherwise, little Punkin' Jr. there probably would have already been a snack. Cupcake's alter ego isn't exactly famous for his family values."

Angel turned then and looked at them. They were all different in a million minute ways, not just Cordelia. Small details he might have taken some note of, had his brain been in any sort of working order.

"Lorne," he whispered, his voice tremulous, "What's going on?"

The Host peered at him closely. "He's still got his soul. But it's..." he cocked his head. "It's different."

With a rush of panic, Angel lunged toward them. They all backed away as one. He realized that they must be as upset by his behavior as he was about the situation, and forced himself to halt. He reined himself in, forcing his voice into some semblance of calm to avoid frightening them any further.

"Where am I? What year is this?"

The unfamiliar woman - an attractive girl with long, dark hair -- though admittedly a bit thin and wild-eyed - attempted to smile at him. She didn't seem frightened at all, and he briefly wondered why. "It's still April, 2002. Although the flaws inherent in the Julian calendar mean it's *really* closer to June, 2006, but... we just choose to overlook that most of the time."

He blinked at her for a moment, then shook off the narcosis that threatened to overtake him once more. "Okay... probably not a temporal fold, then," he muttered, expelling a sigh, "I guess that's something."

Apparently convinced that he wasn't dangerous, Wesley let the point of his crossbow sink to the floor, and Gunn tucked the stake he was carrying into the waist of his baggy jeans.

Never one to allow an upsetting circumstance to obscure the way of good sense (if he did that, they would *never* get anything accomplished), Wesley queried, "What's the last thing you remember, Angel?"

He turned back to the crib and shuffled toward it, intensely needing to know how this screeching bundle came to be... wanting to touch him, to hold him, but too crushed by confusion and fear to dare do so.

"Buffy and I were..." he closed his eyes. Where was Buffy? "In bed, and...then I was here. With Cordelia." Turning once more to look at the enraged woman, he asked her, "Is this... our child?"

No one said a word for several minutes, and it was Wesley, once again, who took control of the situation.

"You were in bed with... but... that's impossible."

"Not *impossible*," Cordelia snarled, "Just really *stupid*. Which - isn't exactly anything *new* in the Buffy and Angel saga, is it? So, have you been doing that the whole time? Thinking about her while you're fucking me?"

Wesley shot her a quelling look. "That isn't helping, Cordelia. Something is undeniably very wrong."

Angel could hear the raw hurt and anger in the ex-cheerleader's voice. Smell the scent of sex and betrayal mixed in with the expensive perfume on her skin. Those, more than anything, made all of this bizarre hallucination seem real. What manner of sorcery could possibly have been on that stuffed animal that had the power to do *this* to his unlife?

"And no, for the record, Connor isn't mine," Cordelia added coldly, "He's yours and Darla's. But oh, wait, let me guess - you don't remember the whole 'Angel goes Ronin, dumps all his friends, and puts a big exclamation point on the end by sleeping with Darla and knocking her up', episode, either."

Darla? Darla was here, in this world too? And he *slept* with her? And they produced a *child*? What kind of sadistic Hell was this?

He whirled once more to gape at the strangers wearing his family's faces... speaking with their voices. A clutch of panic took up residence in his chest.

"Is this Hell?" he whispered.

Cordelia closed her eyes and moved away. Wesley, Lorne and Gunn stared at him, worry clear in their expressions. The strange woman gaped at him as though he was a specimen under a microscope.

"Can vampires get Alzheimer's Disease?" she inquired with complete sincerity.

"Who *are* you?" Angel asked.

"You... don't remember me? From Pylea?" She replied, her clinical neutrality gone, "You rescued me from the Bachnal?"

"Pylea," Angel repeated, relieved to discover some part of this scene that was familiar. "That's your home dimension, Lorne... right?" he posed warily to the anagog.

"Ha!" the Host exclaimed, "He can't be too bad off, if he remembers me!"

"I need to sit down," Angel mumbled.

"Yes, I imagine you do. Why don't you..." Wesley began.

"Wait," the vampire said, looking around. "Where's Doyle?"

Cordelia gasped and went a shade whiter, her big, brown eyes filling with tears. "That's it. I can't take this anymore." She shoved past Angel, scooped the baby up out of the crib, and stomped out of the suite.

Wesley looked at him with obvious sympathy. "Angel, why don't you get dressed and come downstairs? We can all put our heads together and determine what's happened here."

The small crowd shuffled out of the room, each glancing dolefully at Angel as they left. Once they were gone, he stumbled weakly back into the bedroom to his closet.

'Clothes, then some attempt to regain my sanity.'

He shoved the items obviously stolen from Barry Manilow's wardrobe out of his way, and found his real clothes in the back. Tugging on the first acceptable sweater and slacks he found, he automatically reached out for Buffy across the link.

And hit a wall of fuzzy silence. An awareness that she existed, somewhere... but he couldn't feel her with any accuracy. The normal, soothing drone of her inner musings was utterly absent. He couldn't hear anything... see anything through her. His heart aching as though someone had rent a hole into his chest, he dropped bonelessly down onto the bed.

Buffy...

How could their bond have become so dulled? Had she been affected by the toy's magick, as well? Was she here, wherever *here* was?

She was alive, that much he was certain of. He was also certain that, if Buffy was alive, Joyce would know where to find her. He reached for the phone, and dialed the Summers' house from memory.

Dawn picked up on the third ring. "Mark?"

"No, Dawn, it's Angel. I need to talk to Buffy right away."

There was silence on the other end, then, "Is something wrong? The world's not ending or anything, right? 'Cause I have a date..."

"I..." No. He didn't want to scare the poor girl when he wasn't even sure what was happening yet. "No. Everything's fine. Is Buffy there?"

The teenager's voice was sharp and bitter when she replied, "No. She's at *work*. As usual."

Work? Maybe this wasn't *his* Buffy, then. Angel's heart crumbled a little further. This most assuredly was not *their* reality of the past two years.

"Okay. Listen... please have her call me as soon as she gets in, all right? It's important that I speak to her as soon as possible."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Dawn grumbled, and hung up.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the receiver, trying to collect his thoughts before going to face whatever awaited him downstairs.

And realized fully that no one had ever answered his question about whether they were in Hell.


	5. Son of Suck

Buffy was trembling so fiercely she could barely manage to fumble her keys into the lock of her mother's house. The shaking that had begun as she sat in Spike's ashes back at the crypt had barely diminished through her attempts to get dressed, crawl out of the mausoleum, and struggle through the long walk back to Revello Drive.

The loss of her link to Angel was like someone had ripped all of her bones out and crushed her heart in one stroke. Without that comforting contact, she felt as though she had no strength left at all.

She couldn't bear to think about Spike. How he'd managed to get her to Sunnydale, or why. All she wanted was a shower, her old bed, and Angel.

Dawn met her in the hall, looking peeved.

"What's your problem?" her sister snapped.

Buffy rocked weakly as she forced her gaze to meet her sister's. "I... I just staked Spike."

The younger Summers' blue eyes went wide. "WHAT!? WHY!?"

"He... he did something... to me," she whispered, unable to draw enough breath to make her voice work properly. "Magick or something."

Dawn rushed forward, her angry demeanor changing in an instant to one of fear and concern. "What, Buffy? What did he do to you?"

The Chosen One felt herself collapsing... thought for sure she was going to pass out. Leaning heavily against the wall, she managed to reply anyway. "I don't know... exactly. He... he raped me."

"Oh, God, Buffy!" the teenager cried out, "Are you okay? We have to take you to the hospital!"

"No!" the Slayer barked, shaking her head. "I'm..." There was no way she could lie and say she was fine, when that was the farthest possible thing from the truth. "I n-need to sit down."

Dawn quickly put her arm around her sister and led her gently to the couch, then stood, looking down at her. "Buffy, you should see a doctor. Or a counselor or something."

"I can't," she objected, "How... what would I say? 'An evil vampire who used to work with me, but then the behavior modification chip in his head malfunctioned, so he kidnapped me and raped me, but it's okay... I staked him?' No. I just... I need to talk to Mom."

Dawn's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. She quickly considered and dismissed the idea of reminding Buffy that mom had died over six months ago. Her sister was obviously already in shock - no reason to make it worse. "She's... not here."

"Oh," Buffy breathed, staring out into space.

"Just... stay here for one sec, okay?" Dawn said gently, "I'm going to get Willow and Tara."

The girl turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Buffy completely adrift in her pain and confusion. She felt filthy... covered in bruises... everywhere. Logically, she knew every inch of her body was in agony, but couldn't really feel it. She felt nothing but cold, empty, and alone.

A moment later, there was a racket on the stairs, and Willow, Tara and Dawn rushed into the room. The redhead immediately sat down beside her on the couch, and laid a tentative hand on her arm.

"Buffy? What happened? Dawn said Spike attacked you."

The Slayer nodded, and turned to look at her best friend. "What did you do to your hair? I really like it," she mumbled, reaching out to take a frosted lock between her fingers.

Tara frowned and sat down on the coffee table in front of them. "Buffy, what h-happened? What did he do?"

Buffy turned her gaze to the blonde witch. "He raped me." This time, she said it with no tremor... no inflection at all.

"Oh my God!" Willow cried, "Buffy, no!"

Tara sat up straighter, her expression unreadable. "He r-raped you? Are you sure?"

Buffy shot her a look. "Well, I wouldn't have sex with him on PURPOSE!"

Both women flinched at her bark, and exchanged a look. Tara reached out to claim one of Buffy's hands.

"B-buffy..." she began.

"We should take her to the hospital," Willow whispered.

"I said that already," Dawn interrupted, leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. "She won't go."

"You staked him, right?" Willow asked, at a loss on how else to help.

Buffy nodded. Tara's neutral expression collapsed into a frown.

"Y-you... Buffy..." She took a deep breath, and began again, "Buffy, I kn-know I promised you that I wouldn't say anything, but..." she glanced at the other two women, then focused on the distraught Slayer once more. "I th-think this is sort of an emergency."

Buffy tried to concentrate on Tara's kind blue eyes, but couldn't quite manage. Her heart wailed for Angel... but there was still no response. What had Spike done to her?

"Y-you're s-sure he raped you?" The witch asked.

"TARA!" Willow shouted at her, "How can you..."

The blonde held up a hand to silence her lover, not taking her eyes from Buffy. "I'm n-not saying I don't believe you. But, Buffy... y-you told me last month... that... that you were... sleeping with him. Don't you remember?"

Dawn, Willow and Buffy all looked at her in horror.

"What are you *talking* about?" Willow hissed.

Tara looked away. "Sh-she thought that... something went wrong with the resurrection spell. She thought she came back... wr-wrong. Because she couldn't s-stop herself from... from... letting S-spike h-h-hurt her. So I... I went through the spell again, to check. Buffy, it's okay. I mean... j-just because you were sleeping with him, didn't give him the right to..."

The redhead's wide eyes ticked back to Buffy. "You thought there was something wrong with you? Why didn't you come to me? I would have helped!"

Buffy spoke her realization as soon as it formed in her mind. "Because it wasn't me. This... I don't belong here," she mumbled. That made so much more sense! Some twisted Bizarro reality, like the one where Anya had... She turned to Tara. "Wait. Resurrection spell?"

Once more, the two witches and Buffy's sister looked at one another. Buffy watched the non-verbal exchange, her shocked trance broken as her confusion morphed into dread. She leaped to her feet, making everyone jump, and headed for the door.

"We need to talk to Giles. *Now*," she told the others. "Something really, really bad is happening."

Willow got up. "Buffy... you're in shock. Please, let us take you to the hospital."

The Slayer shook her head. "No, I'm freaked, but I'm not in shock. We have to tell Giles what happened. I can call Angel from there. He must be..."

Three matching looks of bewilderment landed on her once more.

"Angel? Why?" Tara asked.

That shocked Buffy. Things here couldn't be *that* different...

"He called," Dawn cut in.

Buffy spun on her. "WHAT? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Oh, gee, I don't know! I thought it was a little more important that you just got RAPED!" her sister shouted back. "He said it wasn't an emergency!"

The elder sibling waved her hands at the younger in dismissal. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go."

"Buffy," Willow interrupted, "Giles moved back to England two months ago."

That last bombshell was just too much. Buffy slowly sunk to the floor and gaped at her best friend. The others fidgeted nervously.

What the Hell kind of crappy reality was this?

There was no warm caress of a loving soul... no whispered words of consolation, in response. No Angel.

Buffy looked up at Bizarro Dawn. "Could you please hand me the phone?"

He might not be in ready contact anymore, but if he existed in this world, and could call her, then plain old technology would have to do.

~~~~~

Angel desperately wished that everyone would go away and stop staring at him like an exhibit in a carnival sideshow. Or someone that they vehemently wanted to dust.

Of course, to them, that was exactly what he must seem like, so he held his tongue and tried to answer their questions to the best of his ability.

"Unbelievable," Cordelia complained for the thousandth time. "I've always been an asshole magnet, but this is just too much."

And, as it had been the last 99 times, her sentiment went completely ignored by the others.

"A dimensional shift of some sort," Wesley mused aloud. "Amazing. It's hardly a commonplace occurrence, is it?"

Angel shook his head, but didn't bother looking up. There was only one being in his vision right now, only one creature he was thinking of, and that was the tiny, wriggling mass in his arms, with his dark brown eyes, and a shock of golden hair. A tiny person; a living, breathing human being with his blood pumping through the miniature, but powerful, heart that he could hear beating so clear and strong.

'My son.'

He thought the words over and over again... he'd heard the whole story (at least the entirety of it that his friends knew)... and still, he was wonderstruck anew each time he looked at him.

"Angel?"

"Hm?" He forced his glance away from Connor's pure, trusting gaze, and found Wesley staring at him with a hint of a wistful smile.

"Well, one thing is for certain, " the ex-watcher observed, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder, "Your love for Connor appears to cross dimensions."

Angel, despite his continuing sense of disconnection from everyone around him but the baby, managed to smile in return.

"How could it not?" he asked softly, meeting Wesley's sharp blue gaze for a moment before turning his eyes back to...

'My son.'

Wesley nodded and stepped away. "Indeed."

"Look, you guys know I'm all about the Baby Love," Cordelia interrupted, "But can we *please* figure out what's going on so I can get *my* Angel back?"

Everyone in the room - Angel included - gave her a disgusted look.

"'Delia," Gunn said, setting the dagger he'd been sharpening back in its place in the cabinet. "I don't think it's..."

She held up one carefully manicured hand, and fixed a glare upon the bald man that caused everyone in the room to flinch. "I don't *care* what you think. Okay?"

Angel's heart squeezed tightly with guilt for her obvious pain. It didn't matter that it wasn't *him* she was involved with, that he hadn't asked to be thrown by some cruel trickery into her arms, robbing her of her lover. He didn't know the circumstances surrounding his other self's affair with her.

But he knew his own core, and he doubted that it altered significantly from one dimension to the next. Whyever his doppelganger had chosen to sleep with his friend and co-worker, he knew in his bones that it was the wrong choice. Her hurt feelings now would no doubt only be the beginning.

"Cordelia, I..." he began.

She swung the same killing glare on him. "YOU especially!"

"That's not really fair, Cordy. I mean," the new woman - Fred, he now knew - interjected. "He's not *our* Angel, like you said. He doesn't know."

And again, the tall brunette spun. "I. Don't. CARE!"

Wesley scowled disapprovingly at her. "I realize this is an uncomfortable situation, Cordelia. But this is *not* the time for blame or misplaced personal recriminations. If the two Angel's have switched, it could have *dire* consequences in the world that require a great deal more immediate attention than does your wounded *pride*."

Cordelia's lip turned up in a snarl, and she advanced on him. Angel got to his feet, reluctantly handing Connor to Lorne, and approached the bristling pair, ready to intervene. Physically, if necessary. He could *not* let things fall apart any more than they already had.

"Guys, please," he entreated.

The phone rang, shattering the powder keg tension. Fred gave a startled squeak, then dashed across the lobby to answer it, leaving the others still in battle position.

The seer was shaking visibly, her lovely face a mask of irrational, indignant anger.

"I don't care if it's fair, or right, or WHATEVER! I..."

"Angel?" Fred interrupted.

He turned to look at her, his mouth open to remind the ex-slave that for now, it would probably be best to take a message.

She held the phone out toward him. "It's Buffy."

Without hesitation, Angel dashed across the room and snatched the receiver from her hand, ignoring the little flash of shame that rushed through him at his rudeness in the face of his desperate need to make sure his mate was all right.

"Buffy?"

"Oh, God, Angel!" she gasped, and burst into tears.

He closed his eyes, the empty place inside him where their bond should be twisting into an agonizing knot.

"Shhh, Ionuin. Ta se ta go math. Ni bheith ag caoineadh. Mas e do thoil e."

"Didn't know he spoke... what language is that?" Gunn observed.

"Irish Gaelic," Wesley informed him. "I knew he spoke it, but he never uses it."

"What's he saying?" Fred asked as they watched Angel continue to murmur softly.

The bespectacled Englishman gave her a warm smile. "I don't believe that's our business."

No one noticed that Cordelia had crashed out of the hotel, upon learning the identity of the caller, until the windows in the outermost back door shattered with the force of her ire.

Gunn gave a wry smirk. "Once a princess..."

"Angel, I c-can't feel you," Buffy wailed, "Everything here is horrible! Mom's dead, and I died, and Giles is gone and we never... never... and I CUT OFF ALL MY HAIR!"

"I know, love," he whispered. "It's the same here."

"You... you cut your hair?" she snuffled.

He couldn't hold back a smile... both of longing and relief that she was safe, at least, and, was, most decidedly, his Buffy.

"No. My hair is fine. My clothes, on the other hand..." he tried to joke.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I kept that stupid bear! You knew, and I didn't listen!" she wailed.

"Hey. Buffy, stop," he commanded firmly, "I know you're afraid. But falling apart isn't going to help us fix this."

Under normal circumstances when she was upset, Angel would reach down deep inside himself, and then out to her over the sparkling, warm threads of their bond. Now he was left with nothing but words. And if she had become as dependent on their mystical method of communication as he had, words wouldn't be enough.

But at least she was trying. He heard her take a long, shuddering breath as she tried to regain some control.

"I know. It's just..."

Even without the link, he heard her - everything was wrong here, twisted, turned upside down. The very Hell he had been denying could possibly exist just last night was now their reality.

"We're working on it, Muirnin," he assured her. "What does Giles have to say?"

His lover's response was to resume her wretched weeping.

"He's not..." Angel whispered. No... not another one of their loved ones taken from them... He was still reeling from the news of Doyle's death himself.

"N-no. He's in... in... ENGLAND!" Buffy sobbed.

"Love, listen. Buffy. Mo gra, listen to me. Sh."

She settled once more into frantic sniffling.

"We will figure out how to get home. I swear, if it takes the rest of my life, I'll find a way. We'll handle this together... just like we have everything else, okay? You just need to get here as soon as you can."

"Er... Angel..." Wesley interrupted softly, coming to stand by the reception desk. "I don't think that would be... prudent... under the circumstances. Buffy needs to stay where she is, and you need to stay here."

"WHAT!? NO!" he heard Buffy howl from the other end of the line.

"Why?" he asked Wesley, unable to imagine any way that things could get worse.

The ex-Watcher glanced nervously around, then straightened and met his eye.

"A dimensional shift of this magnitude is no small matter, as regards the integrity of the fabric of the cosmos. The part that you and Buffy - both sets of you - play in your respective realities is integral. By interchanging you, that fabric has already been weakened substantially, and any further alterations... Well...the consequences could be very dire indeed."

"TELL HIM TO SPEAK ENGLISH!" Buffy shrieked.

"What are you saying, Wesley?" Angel translated.

His face softened, the sympathy he had shown earlier returning. "I'm saying that it's very important, for the time being, that you and Buffy have as little effect on this dimension as possible. You need to stay as close to where you arrived as you can, and change nothing, if you can avoid it. Interact with no more than your immediate circle. If you do that, we'll be better able to right things with minimal damage to either dimension."

"Did you hear that?" Angel murmured to Buffy, the pain of the fact that yes - things could indeed get worse - cracking his voice.

"Yeah," she confirmed softly, "Only... it's too late."

"What? Why? What happened?"

"Um... I sort of... staked Spike."

The shock of her confession froze Angel's thoughts. When they thawed once more, they instantly became a cacophony of personal regrets and mind-numbing fear. In their reality, his Childe was central to the destiny of not only their family, but also the planet itself. If he was fated to play a similar role here...

With a deep, drastically needed breath, he informed Wesley, "We have a problem."


	6. And the Suck Just Keeps On Coming

Buffy was sitting on her bed (or... the other Buffy's bed, she guessed), staring out into space, when Willow found her. The Witch and her lover had spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon with Xander and Anya at the Magic Box, combing desperately through every volume of lore they could get their hands on... and a few that Tara had to conjure from thin air.

Besides the weight of her own uselessness, Willow was completely bummed that no one from Asvathi to Zorkana seemed to know anything useful about how to right a dimensional wacky.

They finally gave in and called Giles, dragging him out of bed, and recruited him to join in their search. After convincing him that no, flying back to Sunnydale on the next possible plane wouldn't really do any good, he had agreed to bury himself deep in the annals of the Watcher's Council Motherhouse in London. If there was an answer to be had in this dimension, it would be found there.

Willow was fully aware of the size of that legendary library, and the needle/haystack kind of odds of finding anything, considering they had so little to go on. So... there was nothing they could do now but wait.... and make sure Buffy didn't go insane in the meantime.

She stood in the doorway and examined her best friend carefully. To someone who didn't know her better, there was no real difference between the real Buffy and this one. She had the same perky new haircut, the same too-thin frame.

But a closer look revealed more subtle differences that seemed obvious to Willow now that she knew they were there. The way she carried herself, for instance. Since they had brought their Buffy back to life, the usually stately young woman couldn't quite seem to stand up straight, as if the burden of being torn from Heaven was just one too many for her tiny shoulders, making her slouch a lot of the time. Her once dancing hazel eyes had gone dull, haunted with shadows. Sometimes Willow wondered if maybe she hadn't fully come back to them after all. Maybe some part of her spirit had been left behind.

The discovery that *their* Buffy had been willingly sleeping with Spike only confirmed her worst fears.

But *this* woman was different, even than pre-death Buffy. Even plowed over as she must be by the shock of the situation, her carriage remained straight and tall, indomitable. Proud. Strong. Her eyes were filled with passion, fire and energy. Surety that in the end, what she saw as a nightmare would be over, and things would return to the way they should be. Her Buffy didn't have that. Hadn't in... a long time.

The redhead was fairly certain she knew why. What one detail was missing from her Buffy's life that this one possessed? Only one person had ever really been able to help her carry such a heavy load.

Angel.

When Willow was young, Buffy's love affair with the souled vampire had seemed the penultimate in romance. The coming together of two warriors who were born to be mortal enemies. Thoughts of them... the sight of the two of them together... the way Buffy's face lit with pure joy when she looked at him, and he at her... she'd envied their incredible relationship, despite its numerous pitfalls. Or perhaps... because they had loved each other in spite of them.

And if she had to tell the truth (which she would never confess to *her* Buffy), some part of her, maybe that same little girl who still believed in fairy tales, never doubted that they would find their way back together, eventually. Wasn't there always a 'happy ever after' for heroes?

But here, before her, sat living proof of just how undefeatable a Buffy who still had Angel in her life could be. And she vowed, when (not if) she got her best friend back, she would do her damnedest to help them find their way to each other again. Even if it meant practicing magick.

After all, it was the least she could do for the woman who was the closest thing she had to a sister, to make up for tearing her out of the rest and peace of a place far better than this one. For overstepping the bounds of Nature, the Rede, and most of all, Justice. Buffy had earned an eternity in Heaven, and in their hubris, she and Xander had stolen that from her.

Maybe finding a way to bind Angel's soul could go some way toward making *this* world better for her, since they had forced her back into it.

"Hey, Will," this Buffy called softly, interrupting her thoughts.

Willow jumped. "Oh. Hey. Sorry. Woolgathering."

The Slayer patted the empty space on the bed beside her. "Me too. Maybe together we can knit a sweater or something."

With a half-hearted chuckle, she sat. "How are you feeling?"

Alternate Buffy sighed. "Like somebody Dustbustered my guts out." She looked at Willow, and realized that she didn't get the reference. She got the Dustbuster thing, but... not the rest. "It's this whole big thing. In my world, Angel and I have this... like, mystical soul bond/psychic link deal that lets us communicate... feel each other... inside... use each other's senses and stuff. Without it... it's like losing half my eyesight, hearing and about ¾ of my nerves all at once."

Willow's eyes went wide. "Really? Cool! I mean... not cool that you don't have that here, but cool that you have it there. How did that happen? And... what about..." she blushed as she trailed off.

Flopping down on her back, Buffy informed her, "That is a really long story."

Her best friend stretched out alongside her, propping her head on one arm. "I've got time."

So Buffy told her - about Willow's spell that went woggy, about Angelus' return, and the Bonding. She told her about Oz, the Pack, and Old Emma. She talked for hours, about Faith and Riley and the Initiative... Angel's kidnapping and the discovery of their bond, about their complicated destiny, about Frost, the Sanguinati, Darla... everything.

"Wow," Willow finally commented, her voice brushed with stunned awe. "I guess everything really is different there."

"Yeah, well," Buffy shrugged. "It is and it isn't. I mean... even here, I can still feel Angel. Like the way I did... before. I bet your Buffy's the same, deep down, even with the other stuff. Mom and everything."

Willow chewed her lip, debating how much good it would do to tell this Buffy the truth of her assumption.

'Well... *not* being honest with each other obviously hasn't done a lot of good for any of us, lately.'

"Don't be so sure," she corrected softly. "After Angel left, you... I mean... the other Buffy... everything went downhill pretty fast."

Buffy tilted her head, remembering. "It wasn't that bad. It was *bad*. Horrible, but..."

Willow took her turn revealing the events of the past two years - Riley, Adam, Glory... her mother's death, and her own. She talked about her resurrection, and Giles leaving. She was recapping her breakup and reunion with Tara when Buffy finally interrupted.

"Wait. What did you say about Dawn? She's a what?"

Neither woman had cut into the other's tale until then, despite all the shocking and disturbing things they heard about their alternate selves. In fact, Buffy was so enthralled by how utterly different this world was, based on what seemed to her to be only one really defining event, that what Willow had related regarding her sister didn't register at first.

The redhead froze. She'd been telling the story as she remembered it - spoken without thinking first - not realizing what the full implications of what she was saying might be. Was it possible that, in her world, this Buffy didn't know Dawn's origin?

"She is -was - the key to Glory's dimension. You died to close the portal Dawn's blood opened," she recapped quickly.

Buffy's brow furrowed. "But... I remember..."

Willow shook her head. "The monks fabricated our memories."

"No," the Slayer denied vehemently. "There *is* no Glory in my dimension, remember? Dawn's always been there. No monks. No Hell portal. No dead me."

"Well... maybe in your world, she is real," Willow backpedaled quickly. She decided not to point out the fact that their timelines diverged long after Dawn would have been born if she was a normal girl. But... if this Buffy and her friends didn't know... maybe they weren't meant to. Maybe they had to learn in whatever way their reality presented to them. "I'm sure you're right. I mean, like you said... no Glory. What would be the point?"

Buffy frowned, but nodded, the idea still nagging at her. She forcefully shoved it away as one of the many things that were just *wrong* in this world.

Willow, however, was not so sanguine about Oz and the apparent threesome her other self shared with him and Tara. They were some kind of magickal triad? That was food for thought during a less trying, more private time. For now, they had to worry about other stuff.

"So... Angel," she said with a smile, "Heavy."

Her friend beamed. "Not so heavy, with the two of us. We get through it together. Help each other. Back each other up." Her expression darkened. "I don't know how your Buffy even keeps going. It's like this body's only half here."

That brought a frown to Willow's face. "You heard Tara. She thinks there's something wrong with her. That... she came back... different. Maybe that's what you're feeling." 'Maybe that's why she's sleeping with Spike', she didn't say. Too bad her Buffy hadn't gotten the chance to come to her senses and stake the bastard. In fact, she sort of wished she'd had the opportunity herself, now that she knew. She'd been so wrapped up in her own problems; she had never noticed how lost and depressed Buffy had really become.

"No," the Slayer sighed wistfully. "That might be part of it, but... this... emptiness she feels? It's where Angel should be. And I bet she knows it too, but just can't face it. I know I couldn't, before."

"Buffy... you said that you and Angel... got back together before the Bonding thing. You mean you... you guys..." she blushed furiously.

The blonde smiled. "Yeah, we did. A lot."

"But... the curse... how?"

Buffy sat up. "We don't know, really. Fate? The Powers? Angel thinks maybe he's not 'naïve enough' to believe in Perfect Happiness anymore. Maybe I'm not either. But... I don't really care, to tell you the truth. We're where we should be, now."

Willow gave her a sad look.

"Or, at least, we were," Buffy added, "Now we just have to figure out how to get back. God... I miss him."

~~~~~

Angel stared at the apartment door, debating what he was going to say.

Assuming, of course, that Cordelia would even answer the door... and refrained from staking him the moment she did. He stepped back.

But... imminent death or no, she was hurting, and it was his job to smooth things over on his other self's behalf. Cordelia was his friend - in any reality. And in this one, she was, apparently, central to his life.

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open.

Cordelia frowned fiercely at him. "I was wondering if you were just going to stand there flagellating yourself all night."

Angel gave her a wary smile. "I thought it was preferable to being staked."

"Mm," the seer grunted, and turned away. "Well, come in, if you're..."

She cut off her unintended double entendre with a grimace, and disappeared into the kitchen. "You want some coffee? You do... drink coffee, right? The other you does..."

Before he could respond, the door slammed shut in Angel's face, and all four bolts were thrown with angry snaps.

He sighed. "Dennis... I came to try and help," he assured the ghost.

The door remained firmly locked against him.

"You know as well as I do I wouldn't hurt her on purpose," he went on, "Either me. Just let me speak to her. Please."

No response. A moment later, he heard Cordelia approach the door once more, muttering, "You know, Dennis, I'm not ten. You need to learn to mind your own business."

The door opened once again. "I'd better hold it." She backed out of the way to let him step inside. "He's really pissed at you. He keeps throwing the disk with the uninvite spell at me."

Angel smiled politely at the jab and took a look around the familiar room. Everything here looked more or less the same, with the exception of the same sorts of details he'd noticed in his own room. Doyle's big screen TV and Playstation were missing, as was the collection of Playboy back issues that was usually tucked discreetly in a rack on the far side of the overstuffed couch. With an imported Scottish wool afghan over it.

It still didn't quite register in his heart that Doyle no longer existed in this reality. That he had sacrificed himself to save the lives of a tribe of half-demons. A longing pain - half homesickness, half loss - rippled through him, and he promptly quashed it. He would be home soon, where Doyle was still alive. For now, he had to repair what damage he had done here.

Cordy plunked down on the couch and gestured to the empty seat beside her. She was clearly calmer than she had been earlier, so Angel began to harbor some hope that he might make it out of there solid, at least.

That is... if he didn't make things worse with what he had to say.

"Feel free to commence with the butt-kissing," she encouraged him gravely.

He forced himself to move and sit beside her. Of course, the entirety of his carefully prepared speech instantly evaporated, so he decided to go for simple truth.

"I'm sorry, Cordelia. I didn't mean to hurt you."

After a moment of expectant silence, she squinted at him. "That's it? I thought, with all those 'classics' you read, you could do a little better than that."

A tinge of her usually sharp humor had returned to her voice, setting Angel further at ease. "It's... not easy for me to comprehend any of this, really, let alone talk about it. I just... I want to make sure you know that I do feel badly for hurting you. I realize... I wounded your feelings."

She snorted at the understatement.

"You have to understand," he continued, "Things are very different where I come from. Waking up... that way... was a bit of a shock."

The brunette gave him an expression of exaggerated surprise. "Gee, you think? The way you jumped halfway across the room like you woke up in bed with a slime demon might have been a clue. I thought for sure we were looking at Perfect Happiness."

He winced. "Cordy... it's not that I don't find you attractive. I do. You're a very beautiful woman. But I'm..."

"With Buffy," she grumbled. "Yeah, I'm sort of familiar with the refrain."

They let silence fall between them once again. What could he possibly say in response to that? It was, after all, the truth. His heart and soul had already been pledged - forever - and it seemed like the ultimate in thoughtlessness that his other self would think it was okay to give this person, who he was supposed to care about, nothing but his body.

"I'm sure... your Angel probably feels very differently," he lied. Although he couldn't begin to conceive of what had sent his other self into any arms but Buffy's, he also knew that in the core of his being, his feelings for the beautiful, golden woman who had saved his pathetic unlife remained essentially unchanged. What was the Angel who belonged here thinking, putting his closest friend in such a position? And how could Cordelia allow herself to be put there, when she must know the truth of his heart as well?

As if she were reading his thoughts, the seer gave a resigned sigh.

"The truth is, Angel... what happened the other day hit me the way it did because... sooner or later, I knew it was coming. I knew you were lying to yourself... and I was lying to myself, too. I was there for the whole 'Angel and Buffy Show', you know? I totally knew that you guys weren't together not because you didn't want to be, but because there was no other choice. I knew you'd never stopped loving her, no matter what you - the other you, I mean - tried to tell me. I knew what we had wasn't long-term, or even actually real. It was just... loneliness, I guess. All that stuff with Connor. And we knew we could trust each other. I knew the deal. I just tried not to think about it. Playing second best seemed a lot easier than being alone."

Angel's heart broke for her. "Do you love him?"

She flashed an ironic smile. "With all my heart. But I'm not *in* love with him. And he's *definitely* not in love with me. The way you reacted? I think there's a big part of him that does the exact same thing every time we're together. He just hides it - from me and himself."

He took her hand. "I'm sure he cares about you very deeply."

"He cares very deeply about his *hair*," Cordelia snarked, then blushed and looked away with a shrug. "I know he cares about me. But... it's not enough." She peered into his eyes, her expression one of great affection. "I don't play second fiddle to *anyone*, Angel. I'm worth way more than that. I want my *own* soulmate, not Buffy's sloppy seconds - no offense."

A wave of relief washed over him. She truly had grown into an extraordinary woman. He could only hope that his alternate self would be so honest... or so wise. He hugged her.

"None taken. You deserve better, Cordy," he murmured, giving her a squeeze. "More than just... table scraps."

Cordelia held him tightly for a moment, then got up and grabbed her bag from a nearby chair.

"You're damn right, I do," she concurred with a grin, "Let's go get him back so I can tell him so. And then give him a good pounding upside his thick head with something really, really heavy."


	7. Return of Suck!

Wesley set down the Book of Navron and expelled a huge gust of breath. It had been a very long time, frankly, since he had been forced to spend more than 24 hours consecutively researching a subject. For the most part, their duties were laid out in some detailed form or another by Cordelia's visions. But this time, he had so little to go on, he felt rather as though he were seeking facts written in invisible ink. Backwards. In some incredibly ancient, dead demon language.

But finally, he had found something. Thanks to Fred's theorem of dimensional shifts and reality anchors, he had been able to narrow his search sufficiently to be helpful. That, in addition to the information Giles had provided regarding magickal practitioners known for dipping their toes into dimension twisting, had finally reminded him of Navron.

The teddy bear the alternate reality Angel had told him about was clearly the catalyst/anchor for the magick. The vampire also assumed that one of two things had triggered it - his and Buffy's offhanded musings of 'what might have been', or... their lovemaking. Perhaps some combination of both. And then there was the Baktavian protection spell screening the travel magick on the toy, and Fred's long, rambling (and admittedly, a bit scattered) treatise on the nature of parallel realities and timelines that had led him directly to the enormous, leather-bound volume currently before him.

Navron had been a dimensional traveler - a tourist, actually - long before the beginning of recorded human history, and had become rather an expert on the matter over the span of his nearly 1000 years of existence. He had, by complete accident, come into possession of a talisman that weakened the divisions between worlds, allowing him to pass easily from one to the next in order to learn what he termed, 'the most powerful magicks in the cosmos.'

Unfortunately, the talisman itself only appeared to allow a single use - with no return ticket. What the wizard had discovered, while trapped in a dimension far more mystical than his own, was that normal humanoids and other mortal creatures could not safely travel to a parallel universe wherein they had a corresponding, living double -- *unless* that double also desired to travel. Navron had been stranded because his dimensional twin was unwilling to return.

It took the wizard a dozen years to discover there were only three ways to override the will of one of the pair of beings - the intervention of a god, a sorcerer with near godlike powers, or...

Interdimensional magick utilized to kill one's doppelganger in the other world.

That discovery sent shivers of fear and panic through Wesley's blood. The Angel and Buffy currently here had clearly not *wanted* to switch - it was no more than innocent daydreaming that triggered the spell. Were their original bodies then... dead? And if so...

What became of the essence of his closest friend, and that friend's beloved, when they were cast to the other side?

Wesley glanced out of the office toward the lobby, where he could see this strange twin of Angel, cradling his son and singing softly off key in Gaelic. This vampire seemed almost an entirely different creature than the one so close to his heart. Stronger, more certain of himself. He did not appear to be in the throes of some identity crisis, as did their own version of him.

Granted, the changes in his friend's demeanor had pleased him, at first. Angel smiled a great deal more... laughed... lived... so much more fully than he had before his breakdown the previous year. It was a relief to see him bear the death of his long life's only love with grace... and his acceptance of the coming of his miraculous ((accursed?)) child with barely more than a blink. Though he seemed to lose focus a great deal more easily than previously, and spent much of his time careening from one "normal" distraction after another (even, to his chagrin, what Wesley believed to be the terrible mistake of becoming sexually involved with Cordelia) to see Angel becoming... more human... was a refreshing change.

But the longer the metamorphosis held, and the fact that his dear friend had seemed to simply repress all the aspects of his darker nature, rather than integrating them with his new outlook - had begun to worry him a great deal. Wesley had expected, after a time, for Angel to gain some happy - or at least, healthy - medium between his new worldview and his old one. An amalgam of optimism and hope, tempered by wisdom and memory. But months had passed now, and his former employer remained firmly in deny and repress mode. He was no longer concerned with the mission or his redemption. No longer walking the path he had fought so long and hard to find.

Instead, Angel was living - as much as such a thing was possible - like a normal human. Which he was not, no matter what he might tell himself. His affair with Cordelia was an unwise choice for both of them, in his opinion, for a number of reasons, from the mundane (he doesn't love her...) to the cosmic (how could he truly have just... let all of his reasons for being fade away?)

This Angel clearly had that balance. He didn't seem to feel any need to avoid the darkness that surrounded him. He trusted his own centuries old instincts, and yet, with the exception of this dimensional confusion, still seemed...

Well... happy, for lack of a better term. Satisfied. Stable.

Wesley's conscience rebelled against the thought, and yet still it came - what would it be like to have this Angel remain here? How might he affect the world differently than his double? Wouldn't Connor be better off, in the long run, with a strong, assured father?

Of course... there was no guarantee that Connor would be allowed to grow up at all. And as he had so vehemently insisted to Angel himself, they had no way of knowing what overall effect the switch might have on the very fabric of the universe for which they gave everything to defend.

One way or another, if it was possible to return this Angel home, they must find a way to do so. And now that he had an inkling of what needed to be done...

They simply had to go forward.

He took a deep breath and rose to inform his friend.

"Angel... I believe I might have found something."

The vampire took a very long time to look away from the infant in his arms. Wesley's heart ached for him. This Angel had no child - and few prospects of ever having one. How must it feel to cradle such a miracle to his chest?

No doubt he was filled with the same mixture of dread and awe as his counterpart had experienced, if his expression was any indication.

"What've you got?" he asked softly.

Wesley took a seat on the couch beside father and son, and laid an affectionate hand on the baby's downy head. He was rewarded instantly with a smile of the pure, innocent pleasure of which only children were capable. He smiled in spite of their unfortunate situation, and said a silent prayer to the Powers that Connor might be spared all the horror of the prophecies bearing his name.

"I haven't found the answer, precisely. However... it is possible that we might contact someone who does have it."

The vampire's face lit briefly, but then darkened once more as he gazed down at his son.

Ah. So it was like that, then. Wesley hadn't considered the possibility that this Angel, like Navron's doppelganger, might not want to return to his reality. Perhaps the tradeoff was simply too great.

But when Angel looked up once more, his expression was carefully neutral. "The Oracles?"

Wesley started. Angel hadn't asked for many details of his other self's life, beyond the coming of Connor, Doyle's death, and Cordelia's recently altered state of being. The less he knew, he'd told them, the better for everyone.

"The Oracles are dead on this plane, Angel," he informed him gently. "Vocah - the demon who raised Darla - killed them in an attempt to cut you off from communication with The Powers That Be."

Angel sighed woefully and held his son close to his chest, an unconsciously protective gesture.

"Who, then?"

Wesley cleared his throat - and mind - and got down to business.

"The Order of Navron - devotees of a prehistoric dimensional traveler. I've been reading his journals, and I believe that some of his students might still exist in this reality."

His friend nodded solemnly. "Then let's go see them."

The Englishman shook his head. "It's not that simple."

Angel grimaced. "Of course not. Why would it be?"

"The legends say that the Order... requires a great sacrifice," he mumbled, "From all parties involved."

Angel stared at him for a long time, and Wesley could swear, held his son closer still.

"I'll call Buffy," he said.

~~~~~

Buffy's pleas to drive went utterly unheeded, and so the two-hour drive to Los Angeles felt like it was taking a lot closer to two centuries. Every mile that crawled by brought her closer to a way home, closer to Angel. And though that gave her more relief than she'd had since all of this began... it wasn't enough. She wouldn't feel *really* better until she was away from this place... the Suckverse, as she'd started calling it in her mind. Back where she belonged, and where things made some kind of sense.

She tried not to think too much or too hard about the awful life her other self led. How must it feel to have been in Heaven, and then suddenly be back here, where there was no Mom... no Giles... no Angel?

No matter how bad it might have gotten though, she still couldn't fathom - and she *did* try - why *any* version of herself would *ever* turn to *Spike*. Angel did exist in this reality, after all...

Of course, now her other self wouldn't even have her evil lover's bed to come to for comfort. Buffy hoped that would give her reason to turn to her friends, rather than plunging even further into darkness.

'I wish I could talk to her. Tell her to go to Angel. He would listen no matter what was going on in his own life.'

But then... if the Buffy here was so different, who was to say Angel wasn't just as weird? Maybe he'd changed. Maybe he'd become, like... a Xanderesque jokester... or started studding it around town, panting after Cordelia or something.

She snorted. 'No WAY. Not even in the *suckiest* reality.'

No... she knew in her heart of hearts that, no matter what Bizarro circumstance her and Angel had gone through separately, they could always turn to one another. At the very least... to talk. After all, Willow had said that he'd come and spent the entire night with her after her mother's... funeral.

God... two days without Angel was making her crazy. No wonder the other her hadn't wanted to come back to life.

"Can I *please* drive?" she whined to Xander in a last ditch effort to get them there before the *week* was out.

"NO!" came the unanimous chorus of the car's occupants.

Well... at least some things never changed - she was permanently relegated to "passenger" in her reality, too.

Buffy sat back in her seat to pout.

~~~~~

Angel watched the woman named Fred babble in a state of mild shock. Didn't the poor girl need to *breathe*?

"...and then you took us to the ballet, and you looked so nice in your tux, and you and Cordy were so beautiful together, but you got possessed by these sort of ghost lovers, and..."

He deeply regretted asking her how his relationship with Cordelia had come about. So to speak.

"And then Groo showed up - he was supposed to marry Princess Cordy in Pylea -- and you looked like somebody just kicked you in the face, but she didn't want to lose the visions, so she asked you to help her have sex, and you went and bought that potion and they went away for two weeks, and then Gunn..."

Angel also desperately wished that he could find a moment's pause in her story in order to (politely, of course) ask her to get to the point.

Buffy would be here in less than two hours, after all.

His soul reached out for hers by habit, and he was shocked anew to find only silence there.

'God, I can't wait to go home...'

But that wasn't entirely true, either. He glanced at the playpen longingly.

"She says you rock in the sack," Fred concluded.

It took him a moment to realize that she was finished. And he had, after all that, learned nothing of value to explain what was going on in his double's head.

"Oh. Ah. Uh huh. Thanks," he commented vaguely.

The cute brunette smiled cheerily. "You weren't even listening."

Abashed, he gave her a sheepish smile in return. "I'm sorry, Fred. I'm a little distracted."

"And no wonder!" she exclaimed, "Believe me, I know all about dimensional shock. You know, Vladimir Cteskov has a theory that traveling through time and space veils alters your molecular makeup..." she trailed off, blushing slightly and tucking a wild hair behind her ear. "But you probably aren't interested in that, either."

Angel winked at her. "Normally, I'd be very interested."

For a time, they lapsed into slightly uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by the gurgles and coos of the baby in the playpen before them, who was busily attempting to devour his fuzzy ducky blanket.

"It's my fault," Fred announced, glancing up at him. "You and Cordy. I did it."

Angel turned to her. "Fred, Cordelia and I are adults. This isn't a matter of finding fault."

She shook her head. "No, that's just it. You didn't really even look at her that way until I started going on and on about Kyrumption and Moira and all that. I mean... you two just had this... great thing... friendship thing... and I automatically thought it was Fated True Love. I *wanted* it to be, but I think maybe that was transference or something, because of... well, because of the way I used to want you to feel about me. So I pushed and pushed, and at first I was so *happy* that you guys were together, but then... I saw what was really going on, and neither of you were really happy, so..."

"Fred," he interrupted her. "Stop. It doesn't matter what you said or did. I told you - the decision was my other self's to make - for whatever reason. You didn't force him to do anything, and I'm sure that both he and Cordy understand that."

She reached out and grabbed his hands so quickly, he jumped. "No!" she cried, "You don't understand! When Buffy died... I didn't know her. I barely knew *you*. I mean... I don't really know you now... or her... but... Then you went away for months, and when you came back..." With a sigh, her face collapsed into a mask of sadness. "I didn't know... a few months of grieving wouldn't be enough. You were still so..."

"Wounded," Angel finished for her. It wasn't hard at all to imagine what Buffy's death would do to him - he had come far too close to exactly that horror to not be on intimate terms with it.

"Yeah," the little brunette confirmed. "You weren't ready. You might never have been ready. But I pushed you anyway. I'm sorry."

Angel began to deny her self-blame once again, but stopped himself. What she needed wasn't to have her feelings dismissed, but for some reassurance that he didn't blame her... that he forgave her for what she saw as a transgression. He knew that feeling all too well, the need for forgiveness.

"It's okay. One way or the other... things always work out for the best," he assured her.

Fred smiled, then... a smile so bright that, for a moment, it cleared the shadows of grief and worry from the corners of his weary mind.

"That's pretty optimistic, coming from you," she declared.

"This Angel's chock *full* of good mental health, unlike ours," Cordelia announced as she reappeared from the kitchen. She glanced down at the playpen and wrinkled up her nose in disgust. "God, Angel, what kind of predator are you? Can't you smell a dirty diaper from 7 inches away?"

He chuckled, relieved that maybe he had managed to minimize his damage to this reality after all. "Sorry. Child care's not really my forte."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Well, *that's* not new." She leaned down and scooped up the stinky bundle that was Angel's son. ''You, little pal, smell like a sewer devil crawled into your diaper and died."

"I'll help!" Fred chirped, and the two headed for the bathroom.

With a sigh, Angel got up and went back up to his other self's bedroom. He meant to lie down for a while - try to sleep off some of the heavy dread weighing him down before Buffy and the others arrived. But when he sat on the bed, the book lying on the nightstand caught his eye.

'See?' he reassured himself, 'Not everything is different. At least the idiot *reads*.'

He picked up the paperback and looked at the cover. "The Captain's Verses," by Pablo Neruda. A favorite of his, as well. He opened to the page that was worn and dog-eared from being folded over and over again.

Angel saw the first words of the poem he'd marked, and didn't need to read the rest. He remembered it all too well. He'd memorized it years ago, when he had first arrived in Los Angeles. It spoke to him, then... told him over and over again that no matter what happened between him and Buffy, no matter how far away for how long they were from one another - their love remained. And some small sliver of his heart of hearts, even in those darkest days, had gone on hoping.

He whispered the poem to himself in his mind, and wished that she could hear him.

"Walking in the sands  
I decided to leave you.

I was treading a dark clay  
That trembled,  
And I, sinking and coming out,  
Decided that you should come out  
Of me, that you were weighing me down  
Like cutting stone,  
And I worked out your loss  
Step by step  
To cut off your roots  
And release you alone into the wind.

Ah, in that minute,  
My dear, a dream  
With its terrible wings  
Was covering you.

You felt yourself swallowed by the clay,  
And you called to me and I did not come,  
You were going, motionless,  
Without defending yourself  
Until you were smothered in the quicksand.

Afterwards  
My decision encountered your dream  
And from the rupture  
That was breaking our hearts  
We came forth clean again, naked,  
Loving each other  
Without dream, without sand,  
Complete and radiant  
Sealed by fire."

He wondered why his other self was reading this, if he was content with his existence. But as the deeper meaning of the lines sunk in, he understood.

He understood everything.

The death of this world's Buffy must have come close to breaking him, even when so many other horrors could not. He'd left the country for months to mourn and grieve... maybe to die, who knows? Then, when he returned, he had suddenly and completely appeared to heal and move on.

But he hadn't, had he? He had tried... tried to gouge out his very heart so it could no longer ache for her in his chest. He had buried her. Shoved her aside. Denied the pain of his soul, because it was just too much to bear if he was to go on existing without her. The idea of losing her, again and again, was not something he could deal with anymore.

The ache had remained, though, despite the warmth of his son's love... the soft succor of Cordelia's flesh. He'd reached out to the only other woman in the world he cared for... thought he could trust to give comfort... forgetfulness. The one as lonely as he. The one who would open her arms to him without question, because she already knew the answer.

But it hadn't been enough. Sometime in very recent memory, this world's Angel must have realized, and sought out this poem once again. Maybe he had been coming to his senses on his own... facing the truth that hurt so much, at last.

And maybe that was how he had opened himself to the dimensional magick: regretting... imagining... wishing.

Warm, tiny, strong arms wrapped around his waist, and a body as familiar to him as his own pressed tightly against his back.

Angel closed his eyes and breathed for what felt like the first time in days.

"I would have been here sooner," Buffy whispered, nuzzling into him, "But Grandma Xander wouldn't let me drive."

He turned in her embrace, and opened his eyes to look down at his heart. He cupped her tender, exquisite features gently between his hands, and bent to kiss her softly... gently... but most of all, gratefully.

"I will never, ever leave you," he murmured into her lips. "Do you understand me? You're never alone, no matter how far apart we are. Hell couldn't divide us. Buffy... Death couldn't. Time couldn't. Nothing can. Ever."

Buffy smiled up at him through her own tears of fear and relief. "Pablo Neruda?"

He nodded.

"'Song of Despair'?" she guessed.

"'The Dream'," he corrected, tracing the graceful curve of her big, green eyes with a fingertip.

His lover nodded sagely. "Thought so... you have Neruda Face."

God... how well she knew him. How deeply and completely he adored her...

"You should try dirty limericks," she teased, despite the slight trembling of her bottom lip that promised her control would be short-lived. "Doyle swears by them."

He drew her into his arms, then, and let the simple comfort of holding her warm body once more fill the empty, weeping place in his soul, where she belonged.

"I really like your hair," he whispered into it.


	8. The Suck Must DIE!

Buffy and Angel weren't allowed to bask in the glow of their reunion for very long. After a few minutes, concerned faces began appearing in the doorway to ask them if they were all right, and finally, Dawn told them that Wesley needed them downstairs NOW, so they could piece together their respective stories one last time, and prepare to take the steps necessary to return home. And then she informed them that he had told her to make sure she said "NOW" again, just so it was clear.

The Slayer gave her lover a weary sigh and leaned hard against his chest, gaining the first true sense of safety she'd felt in days, listening to the familiar stillness there. His heart didn't beat, but it was still alive in its own way, and his body had a unique set of active sounds that automatically lulled her jangling nerves.

"God, can't they leave us alone for five minutes? What do they think's going to happen? It's not like the universe won't hold together a little while longer while we talk."

Angel was still smirking at the temporarily empty doorway. "They're afraid we'll make love, I think."

Buffy pulled away and looked up at him, confused. "What? Why?" Understanding dawned on her. "Oh. Right. Curse."

He nodded, his chest squeezing tight once more at the thought that, in this world, he was denied the very fundamental right and honor of intimately touching his mate.

No wonder the poor dimwit had gone mad.

Then another realization materialized - did the fact that he could have sex with Cordelia mean that the happiness clause was somehow no longer in effect? Or, more disturbing as an illustration of his other self's character, did it reflect on the depth of his feelings for the woman who was supposed to be his friend - and lover? Or rather... the lack thereof? Again, he wondered - how could either party involved believe that such an arrangement was fair... or even acceptable?

"Buffy... there's something I have to tell you," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss into her hair. He took her by the hand and led her to sit down on the bed.

Looking deeply into his beloved's mossy green eyes, seeing them shadowed with worry, he felt another irrational pang of shame. Of course, it was ridiculous for him to feel guilty about his other self's relationship with Cordelia. He'd played no part in the dolt's decision. But he felt it nonetheless, and if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was always being as open and honest as possible with Buffy. Their bond made it difficult not to be - but doubly imperative that he make the conscious effort.

((With one notable exception...))

For a split second, the thought echoed so loudly in his mind, he could only be glad that this Buffy's soul couldn't hear him.

"I have something to tell you, too," she mumbled, casting her glance away. "But you first."

Angel nodded, took a deep breath, and got to the point.

"The Angel in this reality is sleeping with Cordelia," he announced, as matter-of-factly as possible.

Her gaze snapped up to his once more, eyes wide. "WHAT!? WHY!? HOW?! WHY!?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. I have some suspicions, but... the only thing I know for certain is that... I woke up... in bed with her."

Buffy moved slightly away from him, her body humming with tension, and hissed, "And what did *you* do?"

He was partly amused, partly thrilled, and more than a little annoyed at her angry response. "What do you think I did? I finished what he started."

Angel knew the joke was tacky and insensitive, but frankly, the tension of the past few days had frayed his consciousness far beyond the ability for any sort of tact. He fully expected his lover to explode in outrage.

For a moment, she looked as though she'd had a stroke from the shock, but then... she grinned. "You *so* did not."

Angel smiled in return and kissed her softly. "No, of course I didn't." His smile faded. "In fact, I hurt her very deeply by rejecting her in no uncertain terms."

Buffy tried to look sympathetic, but it was quickly overwhelmed by her patented "evil dish" expression. "Why, what'd you say? What'd you do? SPILL!"

He rolled his eyes at her catty amusement. "I think I said something along the lines of "BWARLARGH!" and jumped halfway across the room. She said I looked like I woke up in bed with a Slime Demon."

Buffy smirked, but graciously chose not to comment.

Angel sobered once more. "That's not all."

His mate, too, instantly became serious again. "Isn't sleeping with Cordelia enough?"

He shook his head, claimed her hand and led her into the nursery. After having been changed and fed by Cordelia and Fred, Connor was sleeping soundly, his little face relaxed in the pure, restful repose of the innocent.

Buffy stared down at him in awe... a feeling, even these days later, which Angel still fully understood. Every time he looked at the boy, a rush of mingled emotions washed through him: joy... wonder... fear... and the nagging regret that he would have to leave his son to whatever the Fates had in store for him when he and Buffy returned to their own dimension.

She clutched his hand so fiercely he felt his bones grinding together. With a look of shocked astonishment, she glanced up at him.

"He... he's... yours?"

Angel nodded.

"Oh. My God," Buffy breathed. "God, Angel..."

"I know. I feel the same way."

Buffy leaned over the crib, reaching a trembling hand out to gently stroke the golden fuzz on Connor's head.

"How? Who?" she whispered.

He sighed deeply. "Darla, apparently. No one is really sure how."

Buffy grimaced in distaste. "Darla? That figures. She can't keep her skeezy hands off you in any dimension."

An unexpected chuckle escaped from him. It was another one of his mate's most precious gifts - her ability to make light of circumstances that might have bowled him over completely, otherwise.

"I've made it a point not to ask too many questions about this Angel's life. Frankly, there's a lot I just don't want to know. But..." he explained, "My understanding is that he had a... pretty serious breakdown last year. Slept with Darla, and..." He gestured at the crib.

Buffy arched a brow at him. "You couldn't just get therapy? Go on a bender?"

With a shake of his head, Angel grabbed the baby monitor and reclaimed Buffy's hand. "We'd better get downstairs before they break out the elephant gun and chains again."

She gave him a look. "They found it that hard to believe you didn't want to get funky with Queen Big Bitch?"

He smirked. "It's been a trying couple of days."

Buffy stopped in her tracks. "Angel..."

He turned back. "Mm?"

"Spike..." she reminded him softly.

His expression darkened. "He's dust. And not a moment too soon, if you ask me, whatever the consequences."

Buffy shook her head. "I didn't tell you why I staked him."

Angel wanted to tell her that he didn't want to know, but her tone warned that it was more than a flash of desperately needed good sense on her part. He leaned in the nursery doorway, and waited.

"This Buffy..." she began, looking away from him. "You know she... died... right?"

He brushed her arm gently in response.

"Well... You might not have asked questions, but I *did*. Willow told me... everything, and I guess... she came back really messed up. The other me, I mean." She looked her lover straight in the eye. "She was sleeping with Spike. Voluntarily. On purpose. And you're... not the only one who woke up... you know."

Pulling her closer, back into the shelter of his arms, he gave her an ironic half-smile. "In Delectum Flagrantum? It's okay, Ionuin... It wasn't you."

Buffy sagged against him. "I thought he did some kind of mojo on me... and raped me. I mean... why would she do that? I totally can't understand. So I... I..."

"Shhh," he soothed, gently petting her hair. "It's okay. You couldn't have known what was happening."

Pulling out of his arms, she cried, "But what if I totally screwed up this dimension? What if they need the Gate here, too, and now they'll never have it because I totally freaked and dusted Spike?"

"Hey," Angel interrupted with a stern frown, and caressed her flushed cheek with a fingertip. She looked so tired... so thin. He imagined that his double wasn't the only one unhappy in this world. "You. Didn't. Know."

"I... I thought he was attacking me. I thought... I was naked, and... there were handcuffs. What was I supposed to think?"

He squeezed her tightly. "Oh, Buffy... I'm sorry. Love... I'm so sorry." Sorry that his other self hadn't been there. Sorry that her other self had felt so bereft and lonely that she would turn to an evil, soulless beast for comfort, rather than the one person in the universe that would happily die to keep her safe. To see her happy.

Before they could argue any further, a hesitant voice echoed from the hallway outside the suite.

"Um... guys?" Willow called, "I'm really sorry to, uh... interrupt, but... Wesley..."

"We're coming!" Buffy and Angel responded in tandem, and then flashed one another a smile.

Soul bond or no, they were still in synch.

"You *are*?" the Witch squeaked.

The lovers laughed, kissed softly, and went to join their friends.

"We'll figure it out, Ionuin. Don't worry," Angel reassured her.

~~~~~

Buffy sat down hard on the arm of one of the sofas, just completely unable to stand up under the strain of the past few days of pure HELL anymore, and stared at the redheaded 'recovering witch' who, in another (WAY better) reality, was her best friend.

"I still don't think I understand," Willow was repeating for possibly the hundredth time. "You mean... in some other world, all of us are... like... an army or something?"

Buffy moved closer to the familiar stranger. "Sort of. There's some of us here, in LA... Angel, Wes, Cordy, Gunn, Doyle..." She flashed a look at Angel, but saw nothing register on his face. "And in Sunnydale, Faith, you guys, Dawn, Spike..."

She glanced nervously around the Hyperion's lobby at all the faces gathered there, each regarding her with the same assorted looks of confusion and disbelief that she had been seeing on and off since her and Angel's arrival.

Reaching out by old habit through the soul link that bound her and her mate, she was almost sick all over again when she remembered... she couldn't *do* that, here. There was nothing but a static-y haze in the place where the bond usually hummed, a comforting sound like a constant lullaby in her blood. Like it had since the first time she realized she couldn't just whisper in his mind, or see or feel what he was thinking or feeling, the loss of that connection hit her like someone reached into her chest and ripped her heart out. Or like being maced, having a complete nervectomy, and having hot wax poured in her ears all at once.

But the bond was still there, however unclear and untrained. The same connection that had always drawn them together, since the first time they met... it was just enough to keep her from going totally insane and killing all these strangers wearing her friends' and family's faces. That, in combination with the fact that he was sitting so closely beside her, she was practically on top of him.

Which, here, wasn't the best idea. Whatever his other self had managed to pull off with Cordelia. She glowered fiercely at the thought.

The natural tie between them was also enough for Angel to get her nonverbal cue to pick up where she left off, and he leaned toward the little throng, who had gathered, looking for answers to the sudden twisting of their respective realities.

He looked around at them. So many familiar faces... a few new ones... and so many important ones missing. Giles... Oz... Faith...

Doyle.

Every difference, every loss, was heartbreaking and disconcerting, but above and beyond all of those was the biggest shock of all - his son was sleeping obliviously three stories above their heads. His *child*. His actual flesh and blood, whatever the prophecies in this reality might foretell that would mean in years to come. His *son*...

The souled vampire forced himself to push aside the thought of little Connor, and speak.

"It's more complicated than that. Far more complicated."

Wesley sighed. Of all of them, he was the one who had gotten the least sleep, thanks to nearly 72 hours straight of research. "Well, we do understand the differences in our dimensions... so why don't we dispense with rehashing the obvious, and rather, spend some time finding out how the situation as such came to pass, shall we? Perhaps from the beginning."

Buffy and Angel exchanged a look - how could they *possibly* explain something even they didn't understand?

"Well..." Buffy began, "It really started freshman year, when Willow cast that spell to have her will done. Only... this time she didn't wish that me and Spike would..."

She trailed off at the late-vampire's name. Angel promptly took over.

"She wished that Buffy and I would be honest with one another and work things out. We did."

This wasn't news to the gathered heroes - they had all already come face to face with the reality of Buffy and Angel's bond. Their unwillingness to leave the vampire and Slayer alone for more than five minutes at a time stood as undeniable testament to that fact.

Fred shook her head, and spoke for all of them. "That's all really interesting and everything... but don't you think we oughta skip to the part that got you here now?"

"And to where the *real* Angel is," Cordelia complained, speaking for the first time since the gathering began. She sat apart from the others, her arms crossed over her chest. Angel was a little disappointed at her attitude... but chose not to say anything. Their talk earlier might have done some good, but probably didn't go far in helping her deal with seeing him with Buffy again.

Buffy glared at the ex-cheerleader-cum-visionary... as she had many, many times since she and Angel had joined the others. What she really wanted to do was gouge her eyes out, rip off her arms, and tear her over-frosted hair out by the roots. But... focus. It wasn't the Big Bitch's fault that the Angel in this reality had obviously gone totally loco. Or... maybe it was, but it was irrelevant, right now.

"Well, we got this package a few days ago..." she began, reaching up to twist her hair around her hand, as had become her habit, and freaked yet *again* when she remembered that it was no longer waist length, but now barely touched her shoulders.

Angel nodded, "But that came *after* the demon's threat in the cave. We should start with that."

The Slayer gave him a look of pure adoration that required no soul bond for him to feel. He did his best to smile for her, and reached out to take her hand.

"Yeah," she said softly, "We should start there."

They spoke for some time, detailing everything that had happened to them that led them to this strange reality. Wesley nodded at the end of their story, stroking his chin absently as though he had a beard. "I see. Well. It all makes sense, then."

Cordelia, to Buffy's disgust, spoke her own thoughts aloud. "How do you figure? Have we been listening to the same story? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, I don't see sense anywhere. I don't even see a *bus* to sense."

"No, Wesley's right," Fred spoke up, "Dimensional shifting's not something you can just play with. It's not like a frog in your sneaker or something. And it's definitely *not* easy."

The Slayer flashed the freaky woman a strange look.

"Whoever pulled it off's got major mojo," Gunn agreed.

Willow got up from her seat. "Major isn't even the word for it. I mean... it's not something elemental, like a fireball... or even changing matter, like metamorphosis or something. We're talking about shifting time and space and... who knows what else?"

"Duh," Cordelia muttered.

"What we're dealing with here is clearly meant to do exactly what it did," Wesley went on, "To thwart the Sha'An Tal prophecies in your reality..."

Angel sat up stiffly. "And alter your mission in this one."

"Exactly," the ex-Watcher confirmed.

"Okay, so... some Big Bad Wizard shuffled our decks. Got it," Buffy interrupted what she saw as one long session of pointing out the obvious. "What about this Chevron Guy. Can he help? How do we get to him?"

"Navron," Angel corrected her gently.

She flashed him a tender smile and squeezed his hand. A clear signal - "Thank the Powers you're here with me."

"There is, however, the sacrifice I mentioned," Wesley carried on, "Though, of what that might be, we can't determine. Lorne informs me that he's not aware of any members of the Order residing in this dimension."

"They don't exactly get down with the 'what's my destiny' crowd," Lorne confirmed, "Or karaoke, either."

"What *kind* of sacrifice, exactly?" Buffy snapped, unable to believe that she and Angel would have to give up even *more* just to get back where they *started* from. She was sure there was something seriously wrong with that kind of logic.

Anya was trying very hard not to betray her thoughts by looking at the baby, who had now risen from his nap, and sat happily gnawing on one small fist in Gunn's lap. Unfortunately, she failed so miserably, everyone gathered noticed. Xander elbowed her gently.

"Nothing so cliché, I'm sure," the ex-demon said defensively. "Practically nobody asks for baby sacrifices anymore."

"As distasteful as Anya's display might be, she's correct. We are, I believe, speaking of more abstract sacrifices. Personal," Wesley agreed. He exchanged a glance with the members of the LA team present. "Trials, possibly."

The startled reaction of Lorne, Cordelia and Gunn gave Angel pause. "I take it this is something I've done before."

"Angel, honey, you said you didn't want to know," The Host reminded him, "And believe me when I tell you... it's for the best."

The vampire arched an eyebrow at the demon, but chose to remain silent. After all... he was probably right.

"Great. Trials. Okay, I'm down with that," Buffy said with far more certainty than she felt.

"The only difficulty..." Wes began, but off a look from the others, corrected, "All right, the *primary* difficulty, then... is discovering a way to find the Order so we might petition them."

Anya spoke again. "Why don't you just find an Otherworld Guide? They're all over the place."

"Skip!" Cordelia blurted out, jumping to her feet.

"Gee, Cordy, sounds like fun, but... maybe later, 'kay?" Buffy snapped, unconsciously moving closer to Angel.

The seer shot her a dirty look, but managed to remain on topic. "Skip was the guy who did that 'It's a Terminally Crappy Life' thing on my birthday. If anybody knows the dimensions well enough to get you to this Navarro guy..."

"Navron," Gunn reminded her. "Navarro played guitar for the Chili Peppers."

"Whatever. Angel's gone to see him a couple of times, too. Skip's a big fan. He'll help."

"Okay, then," Angel sighed, getting up and turning to Buffy. "Ready to go to trial?"

The Slayer took his proffered hand and let him pull her up beside him. "Guess it wouldn't be funny to ask for a lawyer, huh?"

"Not around here," Fred agreed.


	9. Sometimes Even the Answers Suck

"Skip", as it turned out, was an interesting-looking bronzed-hued demon with formidable protuberances jutting out from his head and shoulders. He was also big, and menacing, and Angel unconsciously stepped slightly in front of Buffy as the Guide approached them.

At which, predictably, Buffy scowled at him and moved back to her place at his side.

The demon's metallic-skinned face split into a friendly grin. "Hey, Angel! Long time no see!" he greeted cheerfully.

Angel frowned. "Have we met?"

His question gave Skip pause, and the demon squinted, peering more closely at his guests. "Ah. Sorry. Though you were the other one. Bummer about the dimensional switch."

"Yeah, bummer," Buffy agreed sardonically.

Skip grinned at her. "You must be Buffy. Wow. It' s a real honor. I've never met a Slayer before." He held out one shiny hand. "I'm Skip. Otherworld Jack-of-All-Trades. At your service."

Buffy and Angel warily shook his hand, and then a tense silence fell as nothing further happened. The three supernatural beings stared at one another.

The demon cleared his throat, fidgeting slightly. "So. What brings the Great Paradox to the World Between Worlds?" He winked at Angel. "Come to break another terrible fiend out of Hell for selfish personal reasons?"

The two warriors exchanged a bewildered look, then glanced back at him blankly once more.

"Never mind," Skip backpedaled with a dismissive wave. "What can I do for you guys?"

Angel easily snapped into business mode. "We need to petition the Order of Navron."

The guide whistled. "Tall order, buddy. I don't think there are any more left on your plane. Although..."

He trailed off, gazing thoughtfully into space. Buffy fought an almost overwhelming urge to kick him. Or check and see if his joints needed oil.

"Although?" Angel spoke her thoughts aloud.

Skip focused on them once more. "Well... there might be one person that can help. But... it won't be easy."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeah, we know about the sacrifice or whatever. Can we skip all the hype and just get to it?"

Skip responded with a wry smirk. "It's not like giving away your art collection to the Oracles, sweetheart. This guy's going to want something a lot more valuable than that. If he'll talk to you at all. He's sort of retired - I heard he turned his best friend into a Schnauzer or something, and couldn't turn him back. He's kind of bitter."

"Fine," Angel said, "Whatever we need to do, we'll do it."

"Okay," the demon relented. "It's your soul."

Before either Buffy or Angel could reply to that, a bright light filled the chamber, blinding them.

When it faded, they were standing in the hallway of a seedy apartment building.

Buffy clutched her lover's hand. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," Skip replied, "I told you, he's retired. Fixed income and all that."

At that, the copper demon reached up and knocked on the tin wooden door, which was painted an interesting shade of chartreuse.

"Yeah what?" barked a testy voice from inside.

"Doug? It's Skip."

"Doug?" Angel whispered, "Don't wizards take mystical names anymore?"

"Or demons, for that matter," Buffy whispered back.

The sound of a dozen bolts and chain locks being thrown echoed through the dark hallway. The door swung open, and both warriors took a step back.

"Doug" appeared to be nothing more threatening than a slightly disheveled old hippie. His long, white hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and his chest-length beard was gathered in the same fashion by a rubber band around his chin. Tiny round spectacles perched on the end of a long, Roman nose. He was thin but tanned, wearing a ratty rainbow-colored tie-dye and khaki cargo shorts cut off and fraying at his knobby knees. His feet were bare but for several silver toe rings on each foot.

"I don't believe this," Angel muttered, giving the bum a disapproving once-over.

Doug cocked a fuzzy white eyebrow at him, but immediately turned back to Skip.

"Look, Tin Man, I told you... no more pilgrims, okay? They want to get to Mecca or Nirvana or whatever, and that's just not my bag anymore, dig? How many times I have to tell you?"

Skip nodded politely in acknowledgement, but said, "They're not pilgrims... exactly."

The Grand Wizard looked at Buffy and Angel more carefully. "They look like they're looking to get somewhere to me."

"Doug Weisman? Meet Buffy Summers and Angel."

He didn't look impressed. "Yeah? So? Souled vampire, greatest Slayer in history. Grand Paradox. Great General. Blah blah destinycakes. You two've got all the supernatural help you should ever need. Whatdya want me for?"

Before either could reply, he held up a bony hand. "No, you know what? Save it. I don't care." He turned back to Skip once more. "Take your damn questers somewhere else."

"Doug... they're in the wrong dimension."

The wizard glowered at the Guide for a moment, then said with a sigh, "You know, I don't understand why They don't just make new Oracles. This is their game."

Angel finally stepped forward. "I don't mean to be rude, but something tossed us out of our reality and into this one. If we can't get back..."

Doug turned his frown on the angry vampire. "How do you know this isn't where the Powers want you, smart ass? Maybe They need you more here."

"I don't believe that," Angel growled, "And neither do you. We need your help. Our dimension needs your help."

The hippie-sorcerer rolled his eyes, affecting a squealing falsetto, "Help me, Obi-Wan, you're our only hope," he mocked, and then, faster than even Angel could see, he moved until he and the vampire were toe to toe. "Look, kid. I know who you are. I don't care if you have a soul - I still got no sympathy for you. Whatever pain you're in, you deserve that and a whole Hell of a lot worse besides. We've all got problems, okay? My cable got shut off - what the Hell am I supposed to do about Sex In The City? My cat's got a tumor in his testicles the size of a grapefruit. The oceans are poisoned. The greenhouse effect raises the Earth's core temperature like, a whole degree every century. What makes your problems so special?"

Buffy felt Angel's body tense, but before he could really lose it and explode into a rage, she stepped between them, laying a tiny hand on the wizard's thin arm.

"Please, Mr... Doug. I want to go home. I want to see my mom again."

The conjurer's face softened as he looked down at her. The tension in the air lessened palpably as he gave her a gentle-hearted smile.

"Aw, damn. I never could resist a California girl. Okay. Come on in, and I'll see what I can do."

The motley crowd shuffled into the apartment, and Buffy gasped to discover not the craphole that she was expecting, but instead a quaint, clean space decorated in bare, polished wood and elegant oriental antiques. Which she only knew because she saw a vase exactly like the one Angel had on his desk at home.

Doug gestured toward the rattan couch and chairs in the spacious living room.

"Have a seat," he invited. "Tea?"

Angel sat, still frowning darkly, tracking the wizard with his eyes. Buffy settled in beside him, taking his hand, and gave him a squeeze. He couldn't help but smile at her, and the message, once again, was perfectly clear in his tired chocolate eyes.

'You're amazing.'

She kissed him lightly. Skip cleared his throat, and Doug returned with a tray covered in tea accoutrements. He sat down in the last empty seat, and looked the lovers over.

"Okay, let's hear it."

They both started talking at once, then fell into a natural rhythm that allowed one to make a point, and the other to pick it up from there, filling in any holes left by the last speaker.

It wasn't entirely different from the way their souls communicated across the link, actually. Buffy wondered if maybe the magick between them was natural, and the bond only honed it.

"And Skip brought us to you," she concluded, and took a sip of her tea.

Doug looked thoughtfully at them, pursing his lips. "Well. That's a bummer, all right."

Angel finally lost his tightly held cool. "Why do people keep saying that? It's *not* a bummer! It's a nightmare!"

The wizard smirked. "Not all bad though, right?"

Angel got his implication, and relaxed. "No. Not all," he was forced to admit.

Doug nodded, as if that was exactly what he had been expecting. Which it was.

"Look, you two. I feel for you, I really do. But I'm going to be honest with you, here." He leaned back in his chair, dangling his teacup between his fingers, tapping the ring with the pinky. "I don't think I can help you."

At this, Buffy shot forward in her seat. "WHAT? But you said..."

"I didn't *say* anything, darlin'. I just said you could come in and have some tea. And just because *I* can't help you, doesn't mean no one can."

Angel bit his lip to keep from losing his temper again. "Then who can?"

"Well..." Doug used, kicking one bare foot up on the table, showing off its silver toe rings. "The whole teddy bear bit - that's a signature piece. And, that particular artiste is into stuff a whole lot bigger than switching sacred warriors around like 'Concentration' squares."

"And... who might this 'artiste' be, exactly?" Buffy grumbled. She could practically *hear* her nerves fraying.

"Why don't you all come up to the temple, and we'll do a little... research."

The wizard got up, and Buffy, Angel and Skip followed him down a long hallway... far too long, in Angel's opinion, to fit so neatly into the tiny apartment. A bright yellow door greeted them at the end of the hall.

Literally. "Good Evening, Master," it purred in a sultry voice.

"Good evening, Veronica. As Deopam Kel Shrina."

"As you will it, so shall it be, Master," the door replied.

In a blink, they were no longer in the hallway, but instead found themselves in a sun-dappled meadow that looked comfortingly familiar.

Buffy moved closer to her lover, holding onto his hand for dear life. "The Dreaming," she gasped.

"Yup," Doug confirmed, heading toward the shade of their giant oak tree. "I figured it'd be easier to conjure Them if you guys were on familiar ground."

He stopped when the reached the gnarled cradle of roots where Buffy and Angel often came in their dreams to make love. He raised his leathery arms high above his head, and the wizened face grew gravely serious in concentration. Buffy thought he really looked like a powerful magickian for the first time.

"Ish takua! Ela fess ta vunda modorn!" he bellowed. The sounds of nature all around them - the soft breeze, the birdsong - abruptly ceased. "Cal Alli Fa Shas Kell An Modorn! Roots of the heart, I call thee - come speak to your supplicants now!"

The Dreaming shifted... the air rippling with electricity as the sky filled with an ocean of thick, inky clouds. Thunder rolled, shaking the peaceful meadow, lightning struck the other trees in the distance, and in a moment, Skip, Angel, Buffy and Doug were half-drowned in a violent downpour.

"UGH! DAMNIT!" came a small voice from the vicinity of the tree.

The deluge stopped as abruptly as it began. The air crackled once more, and then the meadow returned to its regular pleasant state.

With the exception of a pair of exhausted, drenched, extremely annoyed warriors... and a toddler wrapped in a baby blue toga, looking far more irritated than the vampire and Slayer put together.

"You've GOT to be kidding," Buffy said, looking askance at the cherub-faced child.

The toddler scowled at Doug, then wobbled toward him and gave his knee - the highest place he could reach - a rude shove.

"What the Hell did you do that for?" the tyke snapped.

Doug scowled right back at him. "I called for your mother."

"No, you didn't," the kid argued, "You called for 'the doer of the deed'. Which is me. Which is also none of your damn business, by the way. You're *retired*, remember?"

The wizard sighed. "I bet Venus wouldn't be too thrilled with your pranks, Chester."

"Chester?" Angel whispered incredulously.

"Hey, I'm a god too, you know!" the baby shouted. "A job had to get done, and I was the only one willing to do it. So buzz off!"

Doug squatted down so that he was face to face with the youngster. "Listen, squirt. You know flipping realities around like Uno cards is a strict no-no, whatever the job is. All kinds of ugly crap starts happening when you break the canon laws." He grinned up at Buffy and Angel. "As these folks already know from experience."

The boy turned at last, noticing his audience for the fist time, and had the courtesy, at least, to blush. But a moment later, his anger reappeared.

"Yeah, well, if they weren't such a couple of pig-headed morons, I could have just sent them a dream or something." The tot toddled closer to them. "But nooooo. All the signs in the friggin' cosmos that you need each other aren't enough! Hell, the BABY even looks like you two. But this jerkoff," he indicated Angel, "You could tattoo 'work things out with Buffy' on his Cro-Magnon forehead, and it STILL wouldn't register!"

"He can't really see himself in the mirror," Skip reminded him.

"You just stay out of this, Bronze Boy!" the baby barked, and spun back to the lovers. "Look at the freakin' mess you two have made out of your lives! You," he pointed at Buffy, "Would rather sleep with evil *demons* than admit you still need him. And you," the finger shifted to Angel once more, "Would rather spend all your cash to buy stupid potions so you can get your rocks off with some chick you've got no business pawing in the first place than admit that *you* still need *her*! The whole scenario was giving me a damn migraine, and all my mother does is friggin' cry every time she looks in on you! What are you, mentally challenged?"

Buffy and Angel gawked at him.

"HELLO! I'm asking you a question! And it's *not* rhetorical!"

It was Skip who finally intervened on their behalf. "You're yelling at the wrong set of heroes, Chester."

The toddler threw up his arms in frustration. "It's the SAME THING! They're the same stupid people who just made slightly STUPIDER choices!"

"Okay," Angel cut in. "So our doubles haven't done things the way you wanted them to. I still don't think that excuses threatening the existence of two dimensions by switching us around."

"Yeah. Couldn't you have just... sent a vision to Doyle or something?" Buffy added. "I mean, I staked Spike - that could be a VERY Big Bad!"

Chester waved at her dismissively. "Nah. The Gate only works in your reality. Don't worry about it."

"Which Gate now can't be built, since our other selves have no idea how to use the link," Angel informed the child, "We've been training for over two years. They've barely even spoken in that long."

Finally, the god-child smiled. "And that's why with the switch, genius. Do you even know who I am?"

"Not Cupid," Skip hinted.

"No, not Cupid, moron. Gee, no wonder you're top dog in the Guide Division. No. Since you obviously couldn't get my message if I sent it in the form of a Hellhound to bite you in the ass, I'll just spell it out for you." He puffed up to his very grand, full 2'6", and hollered, "H-O-P-E, Idiots!"

The lovers glanced at one another.

"Hope," Buffy whispered.

"Bingo. You're smarter than you look, cupcake," confirmed Chester, "See, I'm that little ray of sunshine that keeps people going. You know, "10,000 Reasons To Be Happy"? That's mine. The fact is, The Powers can't be bothered to step in with mortals most of the time. They leave that to us - the "lesser" gods," he snorted, "Underpaid and overworked, but there ya go. This wasn't really meant as a lesson for you, obviously. You might be stupid, but you're a lot closer to the right track than the other two. Your other selves... they're not just stupid, they're also self-deluded and stubborn. Breakdown Buffy and Agonized Angel. WHATever. You couldn't stick the tough stuff out... look for a way... oh, I don't know, AROUND the curse or something. So you never got as far in that reality as in this one. Ma thought you'd figure things out eventually, but time's short, you know?" The boy gestured at the beauty around them. "End of Days is right around the corner, folks. Time for all the pieces to start falling into place. The other you's lost me somewhere along the line - just gave up and "moved on" or whatever. If you were just a couple of normal-Joe mortals, it wouldn't matter so much. But you're not, so..."

"Here we are," Angel finished for him. "So the fact that we're here is just... an unpleasant side effect? Is that what you're telling us?"

Chester smirked at him. "Think you got something out of it too, don't you... Dad? Secrets are a very bad thing, buddy. Besides, you could use a little hope yourselves these days. But... okay. We needed to get your doubles shit together - remind them what loving each other felt like. And what that kind of power could mean. Letting them wake up naked in each other's arms in a world where what you all share isn't just *okay*, it's *celebrated*. I figured that would fix them up nice and quick like."

"You were the voice in the cave?" Buffy asked.

"Nah. Just minions. I needed to distract you while I got the spell together. Didn't have to do so much in the other reality, because your kid is my natural symbol. It was easy to flow through him and take hold of them. He *is* hope, see? And... fact is, your twins were right on the edge of figuring it out anyway. I just gave them a little push."

"What do you mean, we were on the edge?" Buffy mumbled.

"He means that our other selves were already wondering how they could reach out to one another," Angel replied softly, remembering the Neruda poem. "They were thinking about each other."

"Right. Maybe you're quicker than you look," Chester agreed. "Anyway, you can all go home now. Three days together is more than enough for the other two to get the hint."

"What about the sacrifice?" Buffy wondered, "Just... poof?"

"Not exactly," Chester said. "You have to give up something. Why don't we have a seat over here, and I'll tell you what you have to do."

Buffy and Angel shared a smile that was half relief, half dread, and turned to follow the toddler. The Slayer didn't notice the sadness in her lover's eyes at the thought of exactly what it was he would have to sacrifice this time for their shared destiny.


	10. The Suck Ain't Over Yet... But Almost

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing a laughing Connor on her knee as Wesley examined the piece Angel had chosen to represent his sacrifice. A blue rattle.

"Well, I must say, it's certainly... an unusual choice for a return spell."

Angel's eyes were locked on his mate and son as he replied; "He said we had to give up something... precious. I thought it was a good symbol of what I chose."

The ex-Watcher closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Angel. This must be very painful for you."

He nodded. "Yeah. It is."

"Well... perhaps the sacrifice won't be as complete as you assume... perhaps you won't forget him... entirely."

Angel shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "Their magick is usually pretty thorough. I know this from experience."

"Yes," Wes cleared his throat, blinking away an unexpected tear, then handed the vampire a small, brown paper bag. "Here's the... material Cordelia mentioned. I hope that you're doing the right thing."

He raised his gaze fully away from the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, and tried to smile for his friend. "I think Chester was right. Our other selves need some hope for a change. Being in our bodies gave them an opportunity to dream out loud, but this..." he pulled a small brown vial from the bag. "I think this is a solid hint that they can make it in their own world, too."

Wesley nodded. "I hope you're right. Well... good luck to you, my friend. Both of you." He shook Angel's hand. "It's been a great pleasure to see the possibilities of the future."

"Same here," Angel agreed. "Thank you for all of your help."

The Englishman began to turn away and leave the two of them to say goodbye to Connor, then cast their spell, in private, but Angel held him back.

"Wesley... take care of Cordelia," he said softly, "She's lonely, and I don't think she's really making sound decisions right now. I'd hate to have her be hurt. More."

He nodded once again, waved briefly to Buffy, and left the suite, locking the door behind him as Angel had requested.

Once he was gone, Angel walked over to the bed, where Buffy and Connor were now lying in the middle, playing a modified sort of patty-cake. The tears he had been fighting since the first time he laid eyes on his son welled and threatened to break free at last as his old, dead heart swelled in his chest.

How could he ever forget the vision before him, when it was all he'd wanted through his entire existence?

When he and Buffy were together in the Dreaming, there were often children laughing. Children whose faces they never could see, and he wondered - did Connor's strong spirit originate in that place between worlds? Had his birth, in some way, been the result of what he and Buffy created there? She had been saying, before all of this began, that sometimes she felt as though the power of their lovemaking was so intense, she swore that something new was born of it - or should be.

Was she more literally correct than he'd imagined? Maybe, then, Connor was somehow a literal manifestation of their bond. Maybe he still went on in the Dreaming, though they couldn't see him. Maybe in their reality, he might still someday be born.

Angel crawled onto the bed and stretched out on his side between the two people he loved more than anything else in any dimension, and the tears finally spilled over, splashing onto his son's soft, tender skin. He reached out to wipe the droplets away with a gentle fingertip, memorizing the powder-silk texture, breathing in the scent of purity, joy, innocence and hope, and wished, one last time, that he might be allowed to take even the tiniest memory home with him.

"You don't want to leave him, do you?" Buffy whispered, interrupting his thoughts.

He drew his gaze up to hers - and like every time he looked deeply into those shining green mirrors of the soul he knew so well, his breaking heart still throbbed with love for her.

"No. I don't," he admitted.

His lover gave him a sad smile, and took the hand he had rested on the baby's belly.

"We could stay," she suggested. "We'd find a way to make it work."

Angel looked away. He had thought about that. With the demon madam's potion, there was nothing, technically, to keep he and Buffy apart any longer... except for the fact that seeing her and Connor together like this every day was more a risk of Perfect Happiness than an eternity of lovemaking. There weren't enough cosmic prophylactics in existence to protect his soul from that pure joy.

He had also thought about seeking out the soul bond here, as an alternative. Maybe Old Emma and the Shapeshifters were at Sierra Ridge... maybe he and Buffy could go to them and ask for help. Maybe...

Angel sighed and stroked his son's head. "No. We have to go home. We don't belong here."

Buffy laid down so she and Angel were face to face, with Connor tucked between them. "I don't want to leave him, either," she confessed softly, her own voice tinged with sadness and regret. "And I don't want you to have to give him up. It's not fair."

He reached across to touch her beautiful face, and tucked a shorn lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm not really his father, Buffy. The other Angel is. Connor's destiny is tied to him, not me. I don't have the right to deprive him of that."

She could hear his heartbreak so clearly in his noble words. Wanted so badly to take the pain he was feeling away. She couldn't think of a worse sacrifice than the one he was being forced to make right now. Once again, for the good of the world they lived to protect.

But there was no way to ease it. She knew enough about parenting to understand that much. And there was no way to change it. She laid her hand over the beloved one on her cheek.

"I love you, Angel."

He smiled, but his eyes remained dull with pain. "Tá grá agam duit, chuisle mo chroí."

They lay quietly, watching Connor sleeping until the antique clock on the mantel struck 11:30. Angel closed his eyes at the sound... so like a death knell...

"It's time," he croaked.

Buffy nodded, chewing her lower lip to keep from crying.

They got up and put him in his crib, then gazed down at him for a long time, their arms wrapped tightly around one another, listening to their last moments with the baby ticking by.

"Angel?" Buffy whispered after a while.

"Mm?" he replied, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"I think... I mean... do you think... the other us-es can... work things out?"

He nodded. "They can if they try."

Buffy tilted her head up to look at his face. Despite the shadows of sorrow she could see there, she thought she noticed more than a little of what Chester said he had been trying to give them. Hope. And seeing it in her lover, the Slayer felt it bloom inside of her too. Maybe... just maybe, someday, all this might be possible for them, in their world.

Angel gave her a little smile, and bent to brush a soft kiss to her lips. "We should go."

"Yeah. It's almost midnight. And we want to be in position, right?" she attempted to tease.

He nodded, too overcome with emotion to chuckle at her joke. Here he was, about to leave behind his only child - perhaps the only one he would ever have. Leave him to some possibly grisly fate, being looked after by a stranger... to a life of uncertainty and fear. Returning home with not even the memory of this precious gift.

And yet, even so... looking at Buffy, hearing her try to lighten his load even through her own tears...

He knew that with her by his side, anything was possible. Even an impossible child... as it had been with a love that was supposed to be doomed.

Taking one long, last look at his son, Angel and Buffy left the nursery and returned to the bedroom. He picked up the small vial of potion from the nightstand, and stared at it.

"I hope this stuff really works," he murmured, turning it around and watching the room's dim light reflect off the liquid inside.

"Well, he *was* bonking Cordelia all this time," Buffy reminded him bitterly.

He smiled at that. "What makes you think it's the potion that lets him keep his soul?"

She stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then smirked. "Right. Gotcha." Angel unscrewed the cap and toasted her, "Slainte," then downed the potion. When he looked up again, Buffy was wearing only a smile.

"Perfect happiness, here we come," she purred, and stepped toward him.

Amazing. He and Buffy had made love a thousand times since they'd reunited two years ago, and still... the sight of her bare body never gave him any less of a jolt of pure love and desire than it had the very first time. Even in the worst of circumstances, the thought that she existed... that she was his, and that she loved him... helped him stand tall when nothing else could.

Even through this.

Buffy slipped her hands under the hem of his sweater, pulled it off and tossed it away. He let out a sharp gasp, tangling his fingers in her hair as her hot, wet mouth came in contact with his room temperature skin. Shivers of bliss immediately rippled through his body, nearly washing away the pain deep within.

No. The other's body. The one that had been deprived of her for over two years, since a Day That Never Was. He wondered - albeit briefly - if this dimension's Buffy would ever learn the truth of that.

He gently grazed the curves of her body with his hands. Traced every familiar line and turn of her, until he came at last to her breasts. Cupping a soft globe in each hand, he gently teased her already-hard nipples, reveling in the little sigh of pleasure that escaped from her throat. His soul cried out for the touch of hers, and though he could no longer hear it speak, he could still feel its song. He knew it by heart.

"In any reality," he whispered into her lips, "I love you. Only you."

She smiled against his smile... slipped her tongue between his teeth, and lost herself once more in his kiss.

This body was starving for him. Already hot and wet, and he'd barely begun touching her. Buffy unzipped the fly of his slacks, quickly sliding them down to the floor, then slowly kissed her way back up.

He was ready for her, too. She took him deep into her mouth, drawing him into her throat, and rolled his testicles tenderly.

"God, Buffy," he groaned, plunging his fingers into her hair to pull her closer as the searing bliss of her mouth radiated through his entire being.

How could his other self ever settle for less than this?

He reached down to urge her to her feet, then swept her up into his arms and laid them both down on the bed. There was no sensation in the universe like this... like being skin to skin with the other half of himself. She was his heat, his heartbeat, his breath, and the very vitality of his existence. Her every soft curve fit so perfectly against him, as if they truly had been poured from the same mold, and then broken cruelly apart, only to spend eternity seeking reunion.

Buffy wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him... tasted the skin of his throat, his chest, devouring his mouth as she arched her back, and her body begged him to come home.

He stopped. "Hold on. I almost forgot something."

She whined as he leaned away from her, afraid that the cold deep inside this Buffy's soul would return if he went too far away. But he didn't let her go, only leaned down over the side of the bed and quickly furrowed through the pockets of his slacks.

"Honey," she panted, "You know... we really don't need a condom."

Angel gave a little exclamation of triumph and reappeared with a folded piece of white sketch paper in his hand.

"What's that?" Buffy asked, her frustration momentarily overwhelmed by curiosity.

He smiled and held it out of her reach. "Nothing."

"Angel!" she whined.

Gently pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, he said, "The answer he's been looking for." Then he leaned up to tuck the paper into the book of poetry on the nightstand, careful to be certain it was in the worn page he'd discovered earlier.

He looked down at her, his eyes full. "You make my life complete," he whispered, and once more claimed her lips.

"Ashanta serditva," he murmured, looking into her eyes. "I want to be where I can feel you... in my heart... my soul. Listen to your thoughts whispering to mine."

Buffy kissed him, long and deep, and then pulled back. "Ashatar vic melodin," she chanted softly, smoothing one hand down his cheek. "I want to be where I can fall asleep in your arms... and wake up there, too. Where we fight together, side by side."

They went on with the incantation as they continued caressing one another. Sighs of pleasure mixed with expressions of love and desire to be home, where they belonged. Where the world was upright. Where even the worst horror was made less by the sharing of the burden.

As the clock struck the first stroke of midnight, Angel eased himself inside her with a deep, satisfied moan.

"I want to be... God... where we're always truly, and completely, one. The way we were meant to be."

As they merged, their bodies utterly intertwined, interconnected, the baby rattle began to glow. And as the warmth of hope flowed from the Otherworld, through the miracle of Angel's son, the token, and then finally, the two of them, the gentle light expanded until they were washed away in its magick... and that of their union.

~~~~~

When Angel opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Chester's teddy bear standing next to Buffy's skin cream on the nightstand. For a moment, he blinked, confused, then looked down and found Buffy - waist length hair spread like a curtain of golden silk over their pillows, sleeping peacefully with a smile on her face.

He brushed a tender kiss to that beautiful smile, and her eyes flickered open.

"Are we home?" she whispered tentatively.

He felt her anxiety rush through him, and almost cheered. "Wherever you are is home," he replied, caressing her cheek.

((Secrets are bad things, buddy...))

"Buffy... there's something I need to tell you."

She shifted a little beneath him, but didn't move away. "More good news?" she snipped sarcastically.

Her unguarded, uncensored thoughts spilled into him in a rush, and he could feel her heartbeat quickening in fear, echoing in his chest as though it were his own.

((OhGodwhatnowwejustgotbackIjustwanttoholdhimandsleepinhisarmsforaweekwhatcoulditpossiblybethatcan'twaituntillater?))

Reaching deep, deep into those places where he kept the secrets he didn't want her to have to look at everyday, he released the last of the carefully blocked areas - the only one he had yet to let her touch.

For a moment, she was silent as his thoughts and Dreams of Shanshu washed into her. Then, she smiled.

"I know," she whispered, tracing the curve of his mouth.

"You... know?"

Buffy nodded, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Come on, Angel. I know who won the last *fistfight* you were in as a human, did you think you could hide something this important from me?"

He frowned. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay..." she kissed his nose. "It doesn't matter."

"I promised never to keep secrets from you, Buffy."

"Angel..." she grasped his face with both hands. "It. Doesn't. Matter."

"You... you're not... angry?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "No. I knew you'd tell me when you were ready. Congratulations."

He kissed her then... in gratitude, in relief... but before their ardor had a chance to grow, there was a loud, insistent knock on the suite door.

With a sigh, Angel pulled the covers up over them. "Come in."

Cordelia slowly backed into the room, her hands over her eyes. "Wesley says he's ready to do the spell if you guys are. Meaning - if you're not still going at it like bunnies on Viagra. Which Anya says is totally not funny, but... she's a freak, so who cares?"

Angel grinned at his friend's back... and the waist-length chestnut ponytail that hung there. "There's no need. It's us. The correct us. And you can turn around."

The former May Queen, current lover of his not-dead best friend, snorted, turned cautiously, and peered through her fingers. "Yeah, right. Because we all know how excited you are about going back to your *snog-free* existence."

"Cordelia?" Buffy snarled, still not too thrilled to see *any* incarnation of Cordelia Chase right now.

"Yeah?"

"Get out of my bedroom, or I will kill you."

The brunette's mouth dropped open in angry surprise. "EXCUSE ME, little Miss 'I'm all bummed out because I died and came back to life,' We've been busting our *butts* for three *days* to help you, and all you two have been doing is scr..."

"Cordy," Angel interrupted, "I ordered that 'Funky Blue' filing cabinet you've been begging for. It should be here on Tuesday. And I reminded Doyle about your anniversary, which, as it turns out, he didn't need."

Her mouth snapped shut. "Oh. Did you tell him about the orchids?"

"Yes. Now," he went on, "Can you please leave us alone to get dressed? We'll debrief everyone in an hour."

"It won't take you and hour to get dres... never mind. Fine," she turned, but flashed them a bright smile over her shoulder. "I'm glad you're back. The other you's a bigger dork than Xander." When she was gone, Buffy sighed and tugged Angel down beside her again. "Welcome home, honey."

He smiled at her. "Considering the way we woke up, I guess they worked things out."

"Three days in bed, huh?" she drawled, "That sounds like a record I'd like to try to break."


	11. GOODBYE, SUCK!

Cordelia looked as though someone had slammed her upside the head with a 2X4. Doyle nudged his girlfriend gently.

"You okay there, Princess?" He asked. Frankly, he was far more concerned with how pale his lover appeared than the fact that Angel and Buffy had just finished telling him he was dead in another dimension. Who the Hell cared about that one when all was well and good in this one?

Except, again, Cordelia. Though her mouth was hanging wide open, nothing actually came out. Which was pretty much the scariest thing he'd ever seen.

Buffy, for one, was sort of glad, considering she was still harboring an irrational urge to punch the bitch in the face.

"Cordelia... it was an alternate dimension," Angel reminded her gently, "It has nothing to do with us."

The ex-cheerleader turned her horrified gaze to him, but still remained silent.

"Cor... say something. The fact that your mouth's not running... sort of scares me," Xander admitted, echoing the thoughts of everyone present. He didn't see much wrong with the other reality at all, considering his life was pretty much exactly the same.

Another moment of apparent catatonia passed, and then, AI's office manager exploded as she jumped to her feet.

"AS IF!" she bellowed, "UGH! That is SO NASTY! Angel? ANGEL? EW! That's like... sleeping with my BROTHER or something! Oh... God that's... I need a shower, like... NOW."

"Thanks," Angel commented wryly.

"No offense," Cordy backtracked half-heartedly, and headed upstairs. Doyle winked at his pal, and quickly followed.

"Oh, none taken," Angel replied, rolling his eyes. Secretly, however, he was relieved.

"Fascinating," Giles commented as he slipped on his coat and stepped toward the door. "To think I would leave you when you so desperately - and obviously - needed me? Ridiculous."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I wasn't too hot about the idea either," Buffy agreed. "That world *sucked*. I'll take bone crushing hoards of apocalypse-y demons and slutty vampire queens any day."

"I beg your pardon?" Darla snapped, looking up from the paper.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm looking at you, Grandma," the Slayer sniped.

"Well, at least I've never lowered myself to having *sex* with *Spike* -- in *any* reality!" the blonde vampire shot back, and then shuddered. "The very idea is just... *vile*."

"Um, actually, Darla..." Angel began to correct her, but was promptly cut off by matching glares from his Sire and his mate. "Never mind."

"Hey, you know... this conversation is really... disgusting and all, but we've got to split," Xander said, getting up, "Willow, Tara and Ahn are waiting in the car."

"Oh, Dear God. I'd forgotten!" Giles yelped, and rushed out to rescue his precious Beemer.

Buffy also got up. "I've got *major* mom-visiting to do," she stated, reaching for Angel's hand as he rose, "I'm thinking about serious therapeutic huggage and hot chocolate."

"Angel..." Wesley called out as he sat down at the database terminal.

The vampire stopped and turned back.

"What did you have to sacrifice?" the ex-Watcher asked.

He frowned for a moment, reaching into his mind, then Buffy's. "I don't remember. Chester wiped our memories of whatever it was."

"Maybe it was the last two years of The X-Files," Buffy conjectured, "Which is something everybody should be allowed to forget."

Angel put his arm around her and led her out into the early evening air. "Somehow, I don't think so, Muirnin. But good guess."

~~~~~

'Angel! Bogey, two o'clock!' Buffy hollered across the link.

Without a moment's thought, using her visual of the attacking vampire as a guide, he spun, plunged the stake into the fledgling's heart, and then grinned at his lover through the dissipating ashes.

'Thanks,' his soul whispered.

They'd been reveling in the link over the past 24 hours, choosing, most of the time, not to speak aloud to one another at all.

'I've got your back, babe,' she chuckled, and tucked her arm back into the crook of his elbow. 'Don't these stupid vamps know not to jump a Slayer in hot date mode?'

'You said the same thing about 'visit entirely real sister and not-dead mom mode'. And I believe the general result was the same.'

'Oh well.'

"Oi! Can you two bloody well slow down for a second? Christ! Some of us don't have Mystical Soul Bondage Speed to back us up, you know!"

The lovers turned to see Mr. And Mrs. T. Bloody jogging up from behind them.

"We just missed you at your mom's," Faith informed them, barely out of breath. "Sorry we couldn't make the big Dimension Switch Party, but, things got sorta outta hand around here. Welcome back, Not-Screwing My Old Man Buffy."

Angel and Buffy stared at their partners for a moment, and then, in the blink of an eye, launched themselves into crushing hugs, laughing with relief.

Buffy squeezed Spike so tightly, his ribs creaked. With a grimace of distaste, the vampire shoved her off. "Not in this reality, Goldilocks," he snarked.

The primary Slayer wiped tears from her eyes. "I *never* thought I would say this, but I am *so* glad to see you!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yeah? Well that makes one of us. Bad enough I've still got your soul stink on me. Don't need your eau de Slayer stench on my coat."

Angel gave Faith one last squeeze, and then the two Slayers hugged. The women didn't break apart, but rather began walking toward the Bronze each with an arm slung across one another's shoulders.

The elder vampire smiled as he watched them go, and he and his Childe fell in step a few yards behind them while they "caught up".

"It's damn good to be home, Will," he declared softly.

Spike snorted and lit up a cigarette. "Telling from how big a bloody git your other self was, I'm guessin' that world was a big shithole."

His Sire smirked at him. "Actually, it had a couple of perks I was rather fond of."

"What, fucking that bint Chase?" Spike smirked back.

"No... the fact that you were dust," Angel replied lightly, and jogged up to meet the women.

Spike stopped dead. "What? HEY!"

~~~~~

"I take you in  
And I hold my breath...  
Try to save the time that's passing by.  
And if you came  
To say goodbye  
A thousand sunrises would never dry  
Every tear that touched my face.

Oh no, and they don't laugh the way you do.  
And they don't smile the way you do.  
And their eyes don't shine the way yours do.

Oh, Oh, I love  
I love  
I love you  
Just because.  
I love  
Love  
I love you,  
Just because."

Buffy sighed and snuggled more closely into Angel's broad chest as they danced.

'You know what I like best about having the link back?'

Without opening his eyes or moving his face from it's comfortable spot on top of her head, he replied, 'Being able to feel one another as clearly as we do ourselves? That in itself almost drove me crazy.'

'No. Not having to shout above the crowd to talk to you.'

Angel chuckled aloud. "There is that."

"Without the words  
to fall back on  
I'm afraid it's hopeless to describe  
And if I tried  
I'd probably steer you wrong  
'Cause a thousand phrases could never say  
How I feel today."

He listened to Buffy's off-key warbling through their bond, and had to smile. How was it that things always seemed to come together so naturally, just as long as the two of them stood together? Was it Fate? Was the path they walked hand in hand, souls intertwined, really paved more smoothly by what they shared?

Buffy smiled up at him, and he thought, 'Yes. Nothing would be the same without you beside me.'

'I hope you didn't have to live in the Suckverse for a few days to figure that out.'

He gently cupped her face in his hands, tracing the curve of her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.

'Actually... I've known that all along. From the first moment I saw you. I knew... nothing would ever be the same for me, from that night. I've been reborn in you a thousand times, Buffy. Without you in my life, I'm far worse than dead.'

She cocked an eyebrow at him. 'So your taste in lovers proves.'

Before he could reply, Faith and Spike mamboed past, cutting a rather impressive rug. Angel frowned at his Childe, and Spike gave him a smirk before he dramatically dipped his wife. Then the pair danced away once more, ignoring the angry looks of people who had to move out of their way to avoid being trampled by the supernatural version of Fred and Ginger.

"Can I ask you something? And I want an honest answer," Angel murmured into Buffy's ear.

She tightened her embrace around him. "Like I have a choice?"

"You could block me," he reminded her, "You're stronger than I am."

Kissing his still pulse point, she whispered, "I could, but I won't."

Angel pulled back to look her in the eye. "Do you find Spike attractive?"

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Do you think he's... sexy? I mean... it's okay if you do. He does have a way with women..." he elucidated sheepishly.

"Angel," she cut him off, "I don't care what Spike looks like. He's *evil*."

Her lover frowned. "That's not what I asked you."

"Do you find Cordelia attractive?" she countered.

"Yes."

His Slayer deflated a little. "Oh."

"You still haven't answered me," he reminded her.

Buffy looked deeply into Angel's eyes. "Honestly? I don't think I've ever really thought about it. He's okay... I guess." She rose up on tiptoe and kissed him softly, "But mostly, I like my men with a soul. Call me picky. Besides - I think *my* reaction to waking up in bed with him *way* beat yours with Cordy."

Angel felt the truth of her words, and relaxed somewhat.

"Good. Then *I* won't have to kill him in *this* reality. Besides...Cordelia's not evil."

'Says you,' his beloved mate laughed, and snuggled back into his embrace.

"Oh, but they don't laugh the way you do.  
And they don't smile the way you do.  
And their eyes don't shine the way yours do.

Oh, Oh...  
I love  
I love  
I love you  
Just because.

I love  
I love  
I love, love, love you  
Just because."


	12. Epilogue

\--The Hyperion Hotel, Room 314. Los Angeles, The Suckverse, That Night.--

After putting Connor to bed, Angel sagged onto his own, exhausted. He breathed deeply, taking Buffy's sweet scent into his lungs, wishing that he could find a way to keep it from dissipating now that she was gone.

Their parting this time had been worse than all the others put together. He thought he'd been doing so well... thought it was so easy to set her aside after her resurrection. And it was. Just as long as he didn't have to look into her sparkling eyes... see her beautiful face... touch her warm, soft skin, or hear her say his name.

And now, having done and had all of those things - and almost nothing else - for three entire days, the loss of it ripped him apart from the inside all over again. Demolished all those carefully built walls he'd begun in Sri Lanka, and made him see...

He was blind. Stupid. Deluded to think he could forget her. To even try to erase the memory of her with the touch of another.

But... how could it possibly work between them, even after this? All the things that had stood between them since before he left Sunnydale were still there. And now... they'd changed so much... been through so many things while they'd been apart. Sure, it had been easy for them to come together again - almost surprisingly so. But the circumstances had been unusual. That wasn't their real life... that was a fantasy world, where all the fondest dreams he'd ever had came true every day. How could what they had shared there possibly translate into reality?

((When you woke up, you made love to her again, though, didn't you?))

Yeah. He had. Twice more before she left. Even knowing where they were... he had felt the potion already buzzing in his blood, and wanted just that one final taste of her before he had to let her go forever. Again.

But that was just sex, right? It was just... unfulfilled longing. They had an opportunity, and they seized it. It didn't mean anything now that they were home.

Did it?

He noticed the book he had been reading before he left, sitting slightly askew on the nightstand, next to Connor's blue rattle. When he picked it up, a small piece of folded sketch paper fell from between the pages, and fluttered to the floor at his feet.

Frowning - almost afraid to see what it was - he picked it up, gingerly opened it... and immediately recognized his own handwriting. Four simple words that tore through him like a storm of understanding. Like an exclamation point on the experiences the two of them had shared in the last few days. All the things they had done, and seen, and felt together.

It was like another epiphany. One of what seemed like a long string of them, one after another, over the past week.

Angel read those words once more, and closed his eyes, letting his other self's wisdom wash through him, wiping him clean of the last of his doubts.

They could make it. He could feel it in his bones. With a smile, he set the note on the nightstand, grabbed his cell phone, and headed into the nursery, so he could be surrounded with both of his most beloved sensations in the universe - the love he held for his son... and that for his soul's mate.

'Don't be a fool,' the note had chided.

"I won't," he vowed to his own ghost. "Ever again."

~~~~~

Don't miss the story of what happened in the Suckverse! The Ballad of Suckverse B/A


	13. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to the Suckverse Buffy and Angel (i.e. the B/A from the shows) while their other selves were fixing things in the alternate reality?

"Meet me in the stillness  
Away from all this madness.  
I'll give you a piece of me  
You give me a moment  
To let you in  
To the corners of my mind..."

At first, I thought Cordelia had finally clocked me over the head with something heavy, like my reading lamp. And sadly, the pain didn't really come as that much of a surprise – every now and then over the past few months, I'd seen that look in her eye. The one that said in no uncertain terms that she didn't "get" me, and she was always, still, even after everything we'd been through, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I hadn't thought about that other shoe in a long, long time.

Cordelia had never really "gotten" me. But... over the past year or so, she had done her damnedest to try. Her attempt alone meant more to me than I could ever express. For the first time in my very long, very lonely life, I had a true friend.

I guess it's not all that strange that we became involved. She's a beautiful, enchanting woman. Or... half-demon, I guess. And after that Darla business... after what happened with... when... Buffy died...

God, I can hardly even form the thought, despite the fact that she's not dead anymore.

The point is, I needed someone. Someone I could trust... who would never ask of me more than I had to give. Cordelia was there, she was willing, and... potion or no, I was fully aware that Perfect Happiness just wasn't going to rear its head anywhere near our affair. We kept each other company... staved off the loneliness that always haunted our existence. I needed someone, and she was the best choice.

Selfish? Sure. Unwise? Thoughtless? Absolutely. But I enjoyed being with her, I really did. I liked to think she enjoyed being with me, as well. Cordelia gave me respite from the horrors of our daily life... from the omnipresent thoughts that I was so separate from the world I existed in, I might as well be in my own universe. She gave me relief from the never-ending fear that had been my companion ever since Connor's birth. And though I could never allow myself to truly get lost in Cordy the way I once had... Her...

Well... Cordelia's warm, soft, safe body certainly dulled the jagged edges of all the trials I faced. I knew it couldn't last. I think we both did. We both knew there would come a day when we could no longer delude ourselves into thinking this escape was enough. That it was okay to use one another the way we were. That I could deny what I felt... or rather, didn't fully feel, for her. But what we shared was immensely preferable to being utterly alone.

That particular night, I had been reading Neruda... again. I was thinking about unions... of minds and bodies, hearts and souls, destinies... and the yearning that forever haunted me for the sensation of all those levels of fulfillment to merge once more inside of me.

I wanted to love Cordelia. Maybe I should have. But I didn't – not like that. I cared about her very, very deeply. I liked her. I admired her. I wanted her. Our bodies worked well together. She eased and titillated my mind. And some small part of my dead heart was most decidedly hers.

But not my soul. Never my soul. And that night, the force of the lack sat squarely like a ten-ton stone on my chest as we lay down together. I tried not to think about What Was Missing. Tried not to see grey green eyes instead of velvet brown. Tried not to remember different lips... lighter, longer hair... smaller hands.

As usual, I failed. And once her pleasure crested, I found my own release, and Cordelia – my *friend* Cordelia, I reminded myself reproachfully – slept in my arms, the words formed fully and clearly in my mind for the first time since I returned from Pylea...

I missed Buffy. I still loved her. I always would.

And with that, I started thinking... maybe what was happening between Cordelia and I wasn't fair... to me, or to her – the woman snoring softly, trustingly, in my embrace.

I never promised her anything. I never had to – of all people, she knew best where my heart and soul lay. She knew who I once was, and all that I had dedicated my life to. She knew how I became who I am now.

I think not having to talk about that... not having to explain why I couldn't give myself to her fully... made it easier to be her lover.

It was nearly sunrise before I finally slept. Realizations... regrets... recriminations and decisions to be made rushed through my mind, keeping my consciousness fully on the wondering, until at last I had to forcefully shut them off. Told myself firmly, for possibly the millionth time, that such thoughts were useless. Buffy and I were never meant to be. Maybe we never should have been. And we would never be together again. It was time to let her go.

But then... I'd been trying to convince myself of that for almost three years.

I don't know how long I was sleeping before the pain struck. It didn't wake me fully, at first. I think my consciousness just didn't want to know for certain if Cordelia had been reading my mind and decided to mete out my just punishment for the way I treated her at last.

Then... I thought I lost consciousness, because the sensations all around me after that initial pain were completely foreign. The womanscent in my nose was different. The body beneath me, smaller. The cries of pleasure so beautifully altered so that they sounded exactly like the voice I so often heard in my dreams, where all my hard-defended denial couldn't protect me.

I kept my eyes closed and fell into Buffy's body, and that melding was so perfect, so complete, that even though I was certain it was a hallucination, some small part of myself still feared for my soul.

She stormed through me like a hurricane – her every thought, every emotion, every sensation as crystal clear as if it were my own.

Then, one thought – I don't know if it was hers or mine – snapped the last haze around my consciousness away.

'Oh my God. It's real.'

With those words came a sob of joy and fear and old, old longing. Fast on its heels though, came the bliss of her climax. It spurred mine instantly, and as I spilled deep inside of her, utterly rocked by ecstasy so sharp it was almost painful, I opened my eyes.

"Angel?" she whispered.

((It's him. It's him and he's inside me where he belongs and God, how could I ever have let anyone else touch me? How could I have let *Spike* touch me? Please let me die... please let me die again right now and take this with me. He's so beautiful and so right and God, I love him. I never stopped loving him, not even for a minute. I tried and it didn't work and I was dead so long before I jumped off that tower, without him...))

A shiver took me, washing her thoughts away. An aftershock that forced me to close my eyes once more. Utterly spent, then, I collapsed onto her, and her arms wrapped tightly around me as though we made love every day.

"Buffy..." I sighed into her sweat-dampened throat. Her hair, so long and soft and scented sweetly with vanilla, warm skin, and desire, like a blanket of silk fisted in my hands.

It didn't fully register that I wasn't dreaming until she began to cry.

~~~~~

I've had a lot of really, *really* weird things happen to me since I was Called. When Will brought me back to... well, existence, at least... I was so hard and hollow and cold inside. I thought, at that point, I had seen everything. There couldn't possibly be a sensation left in the universe that hadn't flowed through me, could there? From the peace of Heaven to the pain of bruised flesh, rolling around in grave filth with a soulless demon... Bruised from head to foot... my wrists, from the handcuffs. Between my legs, from Spike's vicious, rending thrusts.

I couldn't have known, as I fell asleep on the stone lid of his crypt, how wrong I was.

I was drifting in that place between waking and sleeping deeply, dreaming my very favorite dream. Angel was making slow, sweet, tender love to me... whispering words of passion and affection in my ear. I ignored the pain in my skull – probably just whacked my head on the edge of the "bed" again. And what was left of it was pushed away as the orgasm – the most devouring, incredible, perfect orgasm I had ever had – hit me like a freight train.

Even with all the earth-shattering sex I'd been having the past few years, I had never felt anything even *close* to that. A climax so deep, so amazing, that for a second I thought I'd died again and been sent back to Heaven.

((Jesus... she feels so good. Did she always feel this good? I don't want to wake up. I *can't* wake up from this to find Cordelia in my arms. I can't.))

I *heard* him. Heard his thoughts like they were in my head, like our minds were as connected as our bodies. And when he came...

God... it was like my own orgasm all over again – times a hundred – and it pushed me right over the edge after him.

((YES! BUFFFFYYYY!))

I opened my eyes.

"Angel?"

It was Him. I wasn't dreaming. He was home, above me, inside me, all around me, where I had wanted him and needed him for so long...

He sagged down on top of me, his unnecessary breath coming hard and fast. And I did the only thing I could think to do.

I wrapped him in my arms. Held him so tightly, there was no way for him to go away and leave me again.

"Buffy," he whispered into my neck.

I nearly jumped out of my tingling, shivering, humming, blissed-out skin to hear that whisper. We must have realized at the same moment what was happening. I started to cry. He pushed himself up and stared down at me, and another crushing wave of emotion slammed into my heart.

((She's real. Oh my God. How... What have we done? Where are we? What's going on? What happened? God, she feels so good. How could I have ever thought I could touch anyone else and be satisfied? Oh, my love, please don't cry. I'll never let anything bad happen to you again. Not as long as I exist. I'm so sorry... I'm sorry you died, and I wasn't there. I'm sorry I tried so hard to forget you. I'm sorry I didn't let myself see how much pain you were in when you came back...))

He held me quietly for a long time, his thoughts rushing like whitewater, until I could breathe again. And then... he withdrew from my body ((like ripping my heart out)), leaving me so cold, so alone. Please, Angel, don't leave me.

"Shhh," he murmured, combing his fingers through my hair. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. Wherever here is..."

I looked at him. Saw that old tenderness in his eyes. Found the same confusion, fear, and satisfaction that I was feeling behind it.

"I didn't say that out loud, Angel," I informed him.

His face hardened instantly into his patented shadowy, secretive guy expression, and he moved slightly away.

((What is this? Who is she?))

"It's me," I said. And realized... he hadn't spoken aloud either. "Are we... did we..."

"No," he responded, his voice edged with fear as he read my thoughts. "We're not dead. I can hear your heartbeat."

((Her heartbeat. God... when she died I was so far away, but the moment I saw Willow, I *knew*. I felt her absence, like a hole ripped in the bottom of the universe and I thought it sucked my heart right out of my chest and...))

"Angel?" I whispered.

"Yes?"

"Why are we in bed together? ((And why can I hear your thoughts?))

"I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. He reached out and tenderly brushed my cheek with his fingertips. "But I can hear yours, too."

I tried to snap my brain into Slayer Mode. Tried to clear my head of his thoughts and figure out how... How had I laid down with Spike in a violent, bruising, animalistic rut...

And woke up in comfort, safety, tenderness and love with the vampire who still owned my heart?

"I don't know that, either," he whispered.

Slowly, hesitantly, we pulled apart and sat up, gazing at our surroundings.

It wasn't anywhere I'd been before, that much I knew, and yet... there was my cheerleading trophy from freshman year at Hemery, sitting on the mantel. Mr. Pointy's plaque hanging on a nearby wall. It was like a room from some dream, filled with bits of both Angel and I, as if it was *our* room. His books. My 'Cosmo'. His favorite broadsword. My stakes. His leather jacket. My leather... well, that was probably his too, but still...

((What is going on?)) We thought in unison.

I could barely breathe. Whatever had happened to us... it was like a dream come true. I almost didn't care what it was. No... I definitely *didn't* care. It was where I had so badly wanted to be for so long. We made love...

((Oh, my God. We just made love...))

I could feel his cool seed warming deep inside of me. As good... as amazing as that was...

I stared at his broad, bare back. At the sharp edges of his tattoo, a tickle of dread growing in my stomach.

((We just made love... is he...))

He didn't turn around. "I'm still me," he replied weakly. "I still have my soul."

Maybe this was Heaven after all?


	14. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part II

"I looked into a stranger  
Found my soul hidden there  
It hit me like a siren  
To see myself everywhere  
Saw that I knew him  
Like the corners of my mind..."

It wasn't easy to make myself move away from her, but I had to, if I was going to keep my mind clear enough to figure out what was happening. Despite the unknown factors of the situation we found ourselves in, I was still by Buffy's side – a place where I had long since stopped hoping I might be again someday. I could still taste her, salty-sweet on my lips. Still smell her on my skin. I had just made love with the only woman who had ever given me true peace, yet I still retained my soul.

It was a dream come true, and... if things were only slightly different, I might never have questioned it. But as it stood, there were two facts I couldn't shake from my mind:

One, that I could hear her every thought, feel her emotions (which were as conflicted as mine) running through me as if we were, literally, part of one another.

And the second... the thing that terrified me most about what was going on... I couldn't hear the soothing metronome of my son's heartbeat. I couldn't smell baby powder or slightly sour formula. The tinkling of his mobile was silent, as though Connor didn't exist at all.

Both were factors I couldn't afford to ignore. The former was a mystery too important – and possibly too dangerous – to. The latter...

The latter, I couldn't possibly fathom.

"Who's Connor?" Buffy asked, startling me from my thoughts. I turned back to find her standing beside the bed, already fully dressed in a pair of loose black pants and a matching shirt that looked like something I might have worn...

((Before you started sublimating who you really are so you wouldn't frighten your friends...))

I froze for a moment, both at her question, and at the tousled, beautiful, heart-wrenching vision she created before me.

It had been so long since we talked. So much had happened... where could I possibly begin?

"He's... my son," I confessed, finding the words more difficult to say to her than I imagined. And... I had imagined it... many times. I often daydreamed of her with Connor, loving him as much as I did. Raising him by my side.

Foolish, impossible pipe dreams. One of many thoughts of Buffy I rarely indulged in anymore.

The cacophony of her thoughts that had been pouring out of her and into me abruptly ceased. Her face went pale, her eyes widening as my words sunk in...

And possibly, my thoughts, as well.

"Your... what?" she gasped. ((I figured there were a lot of things vampires can't do... have little vampires...)) we both remembered at the same time.

I tried to keep my mind clear of any details of Connor's birth... of any thought s of Darla or...

"DARLA?" Buffy yelped. "You... slept with... but... I saw you *kill* her..."

I closed my eyes. This bizarre telepathy was just too much to take. I had spent a great deal of energy hiding things from Buffy over the years. Shielding her as much as possible from the uglier aspects of myself. And now...

Now, it seemed, I could hide nothing at all from her.

Nor she from me.

((Yeah, Buffy, and you're *so* in a position to lecture him. No. Don't think about it. You can't let him know about Spike. You *can't*. He'll...))

"What about Spike?" I hissed before I could stop myself. The pictures in her mind... No. I had to be mistaken. It was just the trauma of the situation. ((Spike. I'll kill him. I'll rip his head off with my bare hands. I'll...))

Her surprise instantly changed to defensive anger, and she spun toward the door. "None of your business! Stay out of my head!" she barked, flinging it open and stomping out into the hall.

But I could still hear her mind reeling.

((Oh, God, what have we turned into? What is this place? I want to go home. No, I want Angel to hold me. No! I do NOT want Angel to hold me! He's a stranger! I don't know him anymore, obviously, if he would sleep with DARLA, and... how did she come back from the Land of Dust? Why does he still have his soul? And a BABY? How is that... how could that... What happened to 'I can't give you a normal life'? Connor... I wonder what he looks like. Is he here? Where's Spike?))

It went on and on, a litany of pain, betrayal and confusion. And I couldn't help but think, as I hesitantly followed her downstairs, that Buffy and I were going to discover a great deal more than we ever wanted to know about one another before this mess was through.

I didn't even spare a thought to Cordelia until I was halfway downstairs. And when I did, I quickly squelched the thought before Buffy could hear it. There were things I just didn't want to have to explain, primarily because, as I had discovered the night before, the rationalizations I had been indulging in were no longer working even on me.

And I had no others.

~~~~~

I realized, in a really general way, where I was. I mean, I knew that Angel had bought this gigantic hotel, and that was obviously his bedroom we were in...

((I need to get out of here. Connor needs me. What if Holtz... What happened to Cordy? I'll find Wes – he'll have some answers. Maybe the Book of Navron... or timeshifters... could Sahjan have done this?))

I slammed a mental door shut on the unending storm of Angel's thoughts as I reached the empty lobby. Listening to him was like having lunch with a bunch of strangers who all know each other, and the conversation is so full of inside jokes, none of it makes sense.

It's funny... even all this time when he and I were apart, I'd always felt connected to him. When I was... gone... I was always aware of him. Always able to feel him...

But it was nothing like this... like there had been a wall between us all these years, and now suddenly it was gone, and there was nothing inside either of us that wasn't completely open to the other.

I stood there for a minute and tried to get my act together. There are only so many shocks a girl can handle in one shot and still keep going, you know? Obviously, I'd been sucked into some weird Twilight Zone portal or something. Or... maybe when Will brought me back, she hadn't closed the door behind me, and now I was just drifting from reality to reality?

For a second I wondered... had Drusilla finally lost it... and wished on a Vengeance Demon? That would explain...

No, that was just stupid. Maybe the Legion of Dorks cast another time wonky spell on me. Or... maybe the magick that created Dawn knocked reality all out of whack. But why had it taken this long for something to happen, then?

A laugh echoed from a nearby hallway. That sound stopped my heart, and if I hadn't already been completely frozen in place, I probably would have started screaming.

~~~~~

I heard her scream. It ripped through my head like a rusty saw blade, along with a tidal wave of terror like nothing I'd ever felt before. The sound almost knocked me to my knees on the last flight of stairs.

Without any thought at all, I slipped into game face and vaulted over the rail, down to the lobby floor, ready to butcher whatever had frightened the Greatest Slayer in History so badly.

~~~~~

((I WONT LET HER DIE AGAIN!))

His rage, and the laughter, were hypnotic. They didn't break my trance, but instead, pushed me down a long hallway toward the sound of ...

I forgot all about my mental door, and a tidal wave of fury and fear almost crushed me as Angel appeared at my side. He grabbed me and spun me around to face him.

"Buffy, are you all right?" He frantically looked me up and down. "I heard you scream."

((There's no blood. Thank God. But she's so pale, what...))

"Faith," I whispered, looking over his shoulder toward the source of the sound. "Listen."

He did, and in a moment, he looked as shocked as I felt. Still keeping hold of my elbow, Angel walked me down the hall toward the room where sounds of a family having breakfast called to us.

We both froze in the doorway.

((What the Hell...))

There was one of those stainless steel islands, like in a restaurant, in the middle of the giant kitchen. People sitting around it, having... breakfast.

Well... people and... other things.

~~~~~

It was a scene from some twisted horror movie... or, alternately, something out of my visions of Heaven. I gripped Buffy's arm so hard, she gave a pained squeak as we gawked at the gathering.

The noise made all the characters present turn to look at us. Faith. Spike. Cordelia. All peacefully chatting, laughing and eating like it was a perfectly normal, everyday occurrence.

Buffy resumed her earlier screaming in my mind. I squeezed her... more gently, now, and tried to send some reassuring thoughts. I had no intention of letting anything happen to her.

((It'sFaithit'sFaithohGodshe'sfreeshe'llkillusall!!!))

I have no idea what my attempts were to respond. Considering my own utterly psychotic state of confusion at that moment, it's entirely possible that I only started screaming right along with her.

Spike turned away from his place at the stove, moving toward the fridge, and paused to smirk at us. "Well, you girls are up early. Thought for sure that racket coming from your place last night meant we wouldn't see you 'til sunset, at the earliest."

"Okay – YUK to the visual!" Cordelia bubbled, "There IS a reason why we don't LIVE here, you know. Anyway, guys... Spike may not be good for much, but at least he can cook." She waved her full plate at us. "Texas French Toast. 100% blood free!"

"He's good for a lot more than breakfast, Barbie," Faith mumbled around a mouthful of French Toast.

"Wh... what..." Buffy sputtered, echoing my sentiments exactly.

The threesome stared at us.

"Lemmee guess," Spike snarked, coming out of the refrigerator with two pints of blood in his hand. "The Teddy Bear From Hell sucked all your brains out while you were shagging. 'Course... with Angelus that wouldn't be much of a meal. And wouldn't give it much time..."

"Teddy bear?" I muttered stupidly.

Spike flung one of the blood bags at me. I didn't even move to catch it, and it smacked me in the face, then landed on the floor in front of Buffy and I with a dull slap. Everyone's eyes flicked to it, then back up again, and the two other women suddenly looked concerned.

"Are you guys okay? Seriously," Cordy asked, getting up.

It was then that I finally noticed her hair. Long and dark, the way she hadn't worn it in... years.

"What the Hell is going on?" I whispered.

Before anyone could answer, a voice from behind me sent an earthquake-strength shudder down my spine.

"Ah, mornin' all. Ooh! William the Bloody's Famous 100% Blood Free French Toast! God, I'm starved! Princess, you really shouldn't a let me finish that fifth last night..."

I spun, utterly unable to believe...

But then I had little choice but to believe, because I found myself standing face to face with Doyle.

~~~~~

Angel practically yanked my arm out of the socket when he spun, and then let out a cry of joy and disbelief that broke down whatever barrier he'd built around his thoughts as he launched himself into his friend's arms.

((Oh God, thank you! THANK YOU! DOYLE!))

Apparently-not-dead Doyle looked as confused as everyone else as Angel captured him in a crushing hug. After a moment, his hands came up and tentatively patted Angel on the back.

"Yeah, it's uh... good to see you too, buddy," he mumbled, shooting a questioning look to the others.

"Evil Teddy Ruxpin sucked their brains out last night," Spike informed him without looking up from the funnies. "Walked in here like they heard a bunch of ghosts eating breakfast." The microwave beeped, and he snatched the two mugs of blood out, then returned to his stool.

I managed to look at Faith, who was looking at me with what seemed, I swear to God, to be honest worry. She got up and took a step toward me. I instinctively took a step back.

"You're in prison," I hissed. "You can't be here. Either of you!" I directed the last at Spike.

What the Hell was he *doing* here? I had to get him alone... tell him to keep his big mouth *shut*, because whatever was going on, I sure as Hell didn't want to have to explain our... whatever... to Angel.

~~~~~

I almost began sobbing, right there in front of everyone. Doyle was *alive*! How could that be? I'd watched him die.

Of course... I'd also seen Faith in prison... and run my hands through Cordy's shorn, frosted hair...

Doyle gingerly pulled away; keeping me at arm's length, like whatever madness he feared had overtaken me might be contagious.

"Angel, man. You sure you're okay? Ya know I love ya and everythin', but... I just saw ya last night." His voice dropped to a mock-confidential whisper, "And you know how jealous the P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S can get."

I desperately fought to pull myself together. Something was obviously twisting reality so far out of whack, it was bordering on terrifying. However pleasant a lot of its surprises might be... the state of affairs Buffy and I found ourselves in just couldn't last.

Cordelia offered me the other mug of blood Spike had warmed, and picked the forgotten bag up off the floor. I took the blood and stared at her. She was so different – in a thousand ways besides her hair. She looked... younger, lighter somehow. Happier. And the expression of anxiety and affection in her brown eyes wasn't aimed entirely at me. She stepped slightly between Doyle and myself... protectively.

"Yeah, boss," she joked with forced levity. "Hands off my half-demon."

Doyle reached out to take her hand, and I noticed... they smelled like one another. A wave of equal parts relief and irrational sexual jealousy washed through me at the sight.

Then I realized there was tension hot enough to set the room on fire crackling between Buffy and Faith. The former was backing away, even as the latter was reaching out to her.

"B... what's up with you? You're freaking me out," the brunette Slayer told her.

"I'm... freaking... you..." Buffy muttered, still backing away.

"Faith, what are you doing here?" I queried, automatically stepping between them. "Please tell me you didn't break out."

Spike looked up, obviously befuddled. "Break out? Hey, how'd you know about that? I put the chains away..."

I spun on him. "YOU broke her out?"

"You broke her out of prison!?" Buffy echoed. "That's IT! I've SO had it with you!" she shouted, and before I could even blink, dove over the island at him, sending the breakfast dishes scattering everywhere.

All Hell broke loose. Buffy knocked Spike to the floor with an enraged roar. Faith screamed and dove on top of her. Cordelia turned and ran out of the room, screaming for Wesley.

"Christ," Doyle commented, and circled the island to step into the fray.

Buffy's murderous thoughts, once again unguarded, smashed into me, freezing me where I stood. Something I had heard... or at least, hints of it I had chosen to ignore, for the most part, became suddenly, terrifyingly, nauseatingly clear.

"YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH SPIKE????!!!" I bellowed.


	15. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part III

"Like every other soul,  
You feel the night come on hard  
And go slow.  
And life goes on and on  
And it goes in the corners of my mind."

It took a while for the others to tear me off of Spike. God, I wanted to dust him. You know... in all this time, I always knew what he was. What he was capable of. But I guess, in my freaked out denial, I made myself ignore it.

Why the idea that he broke my second worst enemy out of prison was the thing that finally set me off, I have no clue.

Or, maybe I do. Maybe waking up in Angel's arms... with him inside of me... reminded me of how beautiful sex could be... was supposed to be. And instead of trying to work that through in my already scrambled head, it made me transfer all that hate onto Spike.

The wrong Spike, even.

Finally, Wesley (or at least, he was supposed to be Wesley. At this point, I wasn't taking anything for granted) herded us all into the lobby, and we now sat calmly -- or at least, without bloodshed – while we tried to figure out what was going on.

Cordelia and Doyle sat together on one couch, Spike and Faith ((God, they're MARRIED?)) on the other. Angel and I sat as far apart as we could possibly be – in chairs on opposite sides of the room. Wesley paced slowly around us, pondering all the confused bits and pieces of information he had managed to get out of us once we all stopped trying to kill each other.

Angel wouldn't even look in my direction. Not that I blamed him... much.

At last, the ex-Watcher came to a halt and glanced at us. "I find all of this quite difficult to absorb."

"Yeah? Well, join the club," I snapped at him.

He sighed softly. "I could have sworn that teddy bear was harmless."

Whatever. You know, there's a reason why I've never really gotten into Science Fiction shows and stuff. My life is weird enough, for one thing. And for another, things like this happen all the time in those stories. Stuff that gives me a skull-cracking headache when I try to figure it out. So... what? Angel's soul got shot into another body... or rather, the same body, in a different dimension? And all these little things were different along the way for this other body, which meant that his life was completely different...

See? Headache.

"We're obviously in some alternate reality," Angel-States-The-Obvious muttered, more to himself than anything, as he still wouldn't meet my eyes, and he was locked down tight against my thoughts. The coffee table looked mighty interesting, if his attention to it was any indication.

I might not blame him for hating me – Hell, I hated *myself*, most of the time for sleeping with Spike. But really – who the Hell was he to judge? Darla AND Cordelia? Gee, breaking up with me sure had improved his sex life...

Yeah, it hurt. It hurt a *lot*. As mad as I had ever been at Angel for leaving me, at least I *understood*: Perfect Happiness = him and me = Very Bad Things. He wanted me to have a "normal" life – which was really stupid, but still, at least, made some sense.

But apparently none of those rules applied to Cordelia. God, I never hated that bitch more than I did in that moment in the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel. Which was pretty ironic, considering this wasn't even the Cordelia he was banging. And believe me when I say, I *had* hated her before.

"It would appear so," Wesley confirmed, taking a seat next to the Bitch and Doyle. "You say that you... er... were having... uh... intimate relations with... your reality's Cordelia when this occurred?"

Angel moved his meticulous examination from the table to the floor. "Yes."

"And you, Buffy... were with..." my ex-sort-of-Watcher continued, "With..."

"DON'T *SAY* IT!" Spike cut him off. "Bloody Christ, just *thinking* about it makes me heave!"

I tried not to glare at him... or notice the way he and Faith were all wrapped around one another. Talk about conflicted feelings... I was 100% loony bin material, at this point.

"Fine," Wesley went on, undaunted. "We won't say it. Frankly, I agree with your assessment of the nauseating nature of the idea."

"Hey!" Faith objected from her perch in Spike's lap, "That's my husband you're talking about, pencilneck."

Angel looked up, then. "Your *what*?"

Gee, Angel, where have you been through all of this? Didn't you hear Spike call her "the Mrs." 500 times?

I saw him flinch. Not so screened against me after all, huh, Mr. Moral High Ground?

Hard to believe how pissed I was at him, considering how we woke up...

"Hus. Band. *Git*," Spike explained slowly. "You *must* be some Bizarro Wanker – you gave us the bloody dosh to tie the knot in the first place! Along with an arseload of your usual sanctimonious bullshit."

"I can't believe this," I mumbled.

"That makes two of us," Angel agreed.

Our eyes met at last, and held for a long time. Once again, our thoughts poured into each other in a muddled rush. So muddled that I could barely tell which were his and which were mine.

((You don't understand. When I came back, I was so... lost... and you seemed so happy, I just couldn't...))  
((You should have said something. How could you defile yourself like that? Why didn't you come to me?))  
((Oh, right, you mean the way you came to me when *you* were falling apart? Hmmm... no, seems like you slept with DARLA INSTEAD!))  
((That's DIFFERENT! If you were in pain, why didn't you SAY SOMETHING?))  
((What was I supposed to say, exactly? And HEY! Who the Hell do you think you are? YOU slept with BOTH your resurrected SIRE AND my worst enemy!))  
((You couldn't possibly understand.))  
((You're damn right, I...))

"ENOUGH!" Wesley barked. "I think perhaps it's time we explain about the link, since it's fairly obvious that it doesn't exist in your reality."

I slammed my mental door shut in Angel's face once again and looked at Wesley.

"Yeah. That would be nice."

"Short version," Cordy offered helpfully, "You two got back together, then you ran into Oz and the magick he uses to keep from getting wolfy did something to the magick that gave Angel his soul, so Angelus got set free, and you had to have some violent, kinky demon sex, and that tied your soul to Angel's forever. So now you guys can read each other's minds and emotions, share senses, strength, stuff like that. It's all very creepy," she concluded.

"May I assume from the expression on your faces that you've already experienced this phenomenon?" Wesley inquired.

Spike chuckled. "Bet that's freakin' 'em out but good."

"You shut up!" I shouted at him.

"B, just... chill," interrupted Faith with a pretty damn surprising calm, coming from her. "Whatever you're pissed at Spike about, you're taking it out on the *wrong* vamp, remember?"

"Not pissed. Jealous," Angel muttered under his non-breath.

((YOU SHUT UP TOO!))

The love of my life shot me a glare that shriveled what little was left of my soul practically to nothing.

((What, you mean you're not PROUD of fucking a filthy, evil, sadistic serial killer?))  
((SHUT YOUR MOUTH! At least I didn't get PREGNANT, Mr. 'I'm dead and can't procreate so I'm going to leave you to find someone else so you can have a normal life'! That I CAN'T HAVE ANYWAY!))

"STOP THIS!" Wesley shouted once more, causing everyone in the room to jump yet again. "I'm sorry to be harsh, but the two of you reverting to childish mental bickering is *not* going to help matters."

"Not that we're not used to it," Doyle added. "You guys are usually off in your own little psychic world."

"You just need to learn the screening thing Emma taught you," Cordelia suggested. "The other you, I mean."

"Speaking of... I wonder what happened to the other you's," Faith mused aloud. "If your lives are as screwed up as they sound, I bet they're in a *world* of whack."

Now Angel and I were both staring hard at the floor. And I have absolutely no doubt that he was thinking the exact same thing that I was, even if I couldn't hear him in that particular moment:

What would our other selves – used to being together, being tied like this – going to do in *our* lives, which were obviously a matching set of total disasters?

"I don't know who Emma is," Angel sighed, sagging even further into the chair, like the air was just getting to heavy for him to sit up straight under anymore.

And then, the first positive thought I'd had since Angel and I had been totally awake popped into my mind. If this reality was THAT different from ours, then maybe...

"My mom..." I whispered, slowly looking around at the others. "Is my mom... alive... here?"

It was too much to hope, I know. But at that point, I had to take what I could get.

All the faces in the room went blank with surprise. Including Angel's. Apparently, he hadn't thought of it before now, either.

"Your mom's fine," Faith replied softly. "Billy and I had dinner with her last Sunday."

My mom... my mom was alive. My mom had dinner with Faith and Spike three days ago. I jumped up.

"I have to see her." Turning to Angel, I pleaded. ((I have to. Please.))

Without a single thought, he got to his feet. "I'll take you."

I smiled gratefully at him. It wasn't exactly a peace treaty between us... but it was somewhat of a cease-fire.

"Um... guys?" Cordy cut in, "You might want to wait until sunset. I'm sure the other you's wouldn't be too thrilled if you got the real Angel's body all toasty."

"Oh. Right," he muttered, sitting back down. "And just for the record, I *am* real."

((At least, I think I'm real...))  
((You felt real to me...))

He glanced up, giving me a hint of a smile, but didn't reply.

"There are other issues to consider, as well," Wesley added, a hesitant edge to his voice.

I forced myself to look at him. What could he *possibly* think would be more important to me than seeing my *mother*? My mother, who was *dead* where I came from, and I had been living for the past year (except for the three I was dead) thinking I would never see her again until the *next* time I died?

Truthfully, at that particular second, even the fact that Angel would burn to dust if we left now was barely a factor.

Wesley stepped toward me until he was standing less than a foot away. He looked at Angel, then at me, and brushed a sympathetic hand to my arm.

"I'm sorry to have to say this, Buffy. Truly, I am. But until we determine exactly what – or who – has brought the two of you here, I believe it's best that you and Angel have as little effect on this dimension as possible. We have no idea what the full ramifications of this switch might be."

Angel and I looked at one another once more, a flood of ugly thoughts and memories rushing between us, but one thought we shared was crystal clear:

((How can we possibly survive being trapped here together, with all this between us?))

His face clouded over and he turned away, then got back to his feet and stalked off toward the library.

"We'd better get started, then," he growled.

Yeah. The sooner we got the Hell out of there, the better.


	16. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part IV

"So shed your skin for me  
Let's pull back the covers  
There's so much about ourselves  
We've yet to discover.  
So won't you let me in  
Won't you let me in  
To the corners of your mind?"

I slammed the Book of Navron shut and shoved it aside. This was going nowhere fast. I kept staring at the words on the pages in front of me, but all I saw were Buffy's eyes when she realized that Joyce was still alive in this reality. How they filled with tears, their mossy hazel sharpening to emerald green with emotion... how her relief and agony combined were so acute that I felt them even through the screen I had been meticulously building around my mind... and my heart.

Damn it! I had to focus. Connor needed me. God knew what was happening in the other reality while I was stuck here, banging my head impotently against the stone wall that was my relationship with Buffy.

Things were exactly as they had always been between us – part impossible trial, part sweet dream, part nightmare. The last time I saw her... that night we spent together when she first returned from the dead... all of our pain, our past, our secrets had hovered around us like a pack of slathering animals, just waiting for us to let down our defenses so they might devour what piecemeal shambles of lives we had managed to build since we'd been apart.

She had been so cold... so distant. Her eyes were... different. I thought... she didn't need me anymore. Didn't even want me. And I convinced myself that that was for the best.

I had to turn and walk away from her, that night. I had to say goodbye to my life's only love once and for all, because I knew ((the memory of my soul collapsing upon realizing that she was dead still stood so fresh, raw and bleeding in my mind)) that if I didn't forcibly *evict* her from my life... my mind... my heart... I would be trapped in this vortex of pain and longing and loss until it consumed me.

Once I might not have minded being devoured by it. Back then, she was the only reason I bothered to rise each sunset. But now... now there was so much more to live for. And that had been before Connor...

Yes, I had slowly been coming to realize that just because I had "more" did not mean that Buffy was no longer a Reason. The First Reason. My original, Foundational Purpose for being. But I had tried, and tried hard, to pretend that it wasn't true.

Loving her was just too painful.

But I had been failing, hadn't I? Truth is like that. A cruel, heedless mistress who cares nothing about the feelings of the mortals – and those who were tied to them -- trampled under her glorious, monstrous feet. She's always there, whispering in your ear, blowing away your concrete and steel barriers of denial as though they were no more than old, dry spider webs on a strong wind.

No matter how fast or how far I ran, Truth was always waiting for me. Whether it was regarding Connor, Buffy, Cordelia, or even myself, the cold, hard facts just wouldn't leave me alone.

Now this. Some ugly ((sweet)) twist of fate had thrust me here, into a world where all my defenses were less than paper-thin. Where I was forced to stand straight, eyes forward and wide open, and look at that Truth I had been running so hard from.

Was that *why* we had been sent here? Was this some elaborate ruse by the Powers to make us work out our differences... come to grips with what our lives had become without one another? Something pulled us out of the distractions of our everyday, and my own realizations of what I was doing to my own existence... my friends... Was that change *too* slow for Their comfort? Had They taken it upon themselves to show us, in no uncertain terms, what we could be together?

In this world, from what I had gathered thus far, the other me and the other Buffy together were central to the future... to the continued balance of Good vs. Evil. Together we made up the fabled Paradox Gate of the Sha'An Tal prophecies. Here, our love was not only allowed... it was expected. Required. Honored.

'Together you were powerful. Alone, you are dead.'

I sat back hard in the chair, the memory of the Mohra demon's words – and consequently, all the other memories of that one Perfect Day That Never Was – thundered through me.

Could it be that my understanding of that grim prophecy had been wrong? That the creature meant not that I needed to remain a vampire to continue the Good Fight and protect Buffy...

But that 'together' meant exactly that? The two of us, literally together?

I didn't know... back when it happened, or at this moment.

"Deep thoughts?" came Faith's voice from the doorway. "Can't quite hear you thinking like Buffy can, but... the sighs are giving you away. Better than a billboard."

"Hey, Faith," I said, taking a deep breath. "What's up?"

She gave me a knowing look. Half of me wanted to remind her that *I* barely knew her, and she certainly didn't know me, so whatever that cocked eyebrow and wry smirk was supposed to mean, she could save it for the other Angel.

Of course... it didn't really sound like he needed it. And frankly, whatever she was thinking, she was probably right.

It was a downright bizarre sensation – one of many that day – to see her stroll into the room, plop down on the chair opposite me, and kick her feet up on the desk as though she did it all the time. The last half-dozen occasions when I had seen her, there were three inches of Plexiglas between us, and she was wearing prison drab, not a fashionable silk tank top, leather pants, and Doc Marten's that matched Spike's.

Truth be told, I was still more than a little taken aback at the idea of their... whatever it was. What could possibly draw two such disparate creatures together?

"So... what's up with you and Bizarro B? Finding the whole Your Soul/My Soul/Our Soul thing a little heavy?"

I frowned at her. "I'm hoping there's a point you plan to make in the very near future. I have work to do here."

She shrugged and inspected her blunt nails. "Just seems to me you're wasting time. I mean... in this world, you and B can get down like no tomorrow without worrying about a visit from Leatherboy." She folded her hands across her stomach and looked up at me. "So why are you in here doing the exact same thing Wes and the G-Man are doing ten times better?"

"Because I have to get home to my son," I reminded her without hesitation. "He's in a great deal of danger, from a lot of quarters, and I can't waste time rehashing things that can't be changed."

Faith smiled. "Nice, but no Oscar."

Anger – whether righteous or defensive, I couldn't be certain – blazed through me. "Excuse me?"

The Slayer stared at me for a moment as if considering her next words, then dropped her booted feet back to the floor and leaned over the desk, looking deeply into my eyes.

"Look, I know you and I don't have the tight brother/sister connection I've got with the other Angel. But the way I see it – there's not really that much difference deep down, is there? A couple turns in the road here, something you didn't do or say there... a ditzy half-trained Witch with a torn-up heart wishes you with one vampire or another... a bunch of psycho lawyers reconstitute your Sire like vamp Kool-Aid – it's still you, deep down. And I know you, big guy. Sometimes better than you know yourself. Same with B."

It took a great deal of my already waning patience and will not to tell her to mind her own damn business. In fact, if pressed, I don't think I could tell you why I didn't do just that.

Maybe I needed to hear the same Truth I was wrestling with from someone else.

But... someone who would marry *Spike*? *Willingly*? Was that really the person who I should take relationship advice from? I don't think so.

"And?" I said, hoping she would just get it out and then leave me alone.

She kept staring at me – penetrating right through me with those sharp brown eyes that never missed a trick – in any reality. I couldn't help but notice that she absently twisted a rather surprisingly elegant antique silver wedding band around her finger.

Faith noted the direction of my gaze, and grinned. "It makes the other you psycho too. Pretty sure you would've stroked out when we told you. If you weren't already dead."

"I'm still not hearing your *point*, Faith," I growled.

"The old ball and chain's *point*, Precious," Spike drawled as he strolled into the office, a Guinness in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, "Is that you're a big, soddin', stupid git. But then, so's the other you, so..."

"That *was* sorta my point, babe," Faith beamed up at him. My GrandChilde proceeded to make me painfully nauseous by winking at her and claiming her hand, bringing it to his lips to brush her knuckles. "Just nicer."

"Look, I love logic puzzles. I do," I remarked, getting up, "But since neither of you have even the smallest intention of *using* any logic, I'm going to find somewhere quiet to read."

Spike grabbed me before I reached the door. I snarled at him, but he only smiled.

"What happened, Angelus? I thought you bought into all that Fate and Destiny crap?"

"Don't call me that. And get your hand off me, or I'll rip it off," I hissed at him.

He let go, and laughed. "Fine. Go ahead and play Denial Boy. Be an idiot. It' s your specialty anyway, isn't it? I'll tell ya what, though... The you in this reality found out the hard way what happens when you turn your back on the facts, mate."

"They bite you in the ass, A. Believe me," Faith finished for him.

"I don't need this right now," I snapped, and taking the Book of Navron with me, fled the room.

Only to find myself faced with Cordelia and Doyle peacefully curled up together on one of the couches, the half-demon holding up the Black Annals so that both of them could read it.

I had to smile at the picture they created. Some part of me had always thought that was the way things could have been -- maybe should have been – between them.

Cordy, who looked more like she was sleeping than reading, lifted her head to look at me. And I was reminded, gazing into those velvet brown eyes, of the thoughts I had been harboring when we were together the night before. My shabby treatment of her... my violation of her trust...

This Cordelia smiled. "She's upstairs."

I sighed. This entire dimension seemed to be little more than one giant conspiracy to force Buffy and I together. I was half-tempted to stubbornly cling to my denial just to thwart the plans of whatever had brought me here.

I decided to feign ignorance. "Who is?"

"The Tooth Fairy," she snapped, sitting up. "Who do you think?"

Playing dumb having failed me, I fell back on Defensive. "I *know* where she is. I can hear that garbage she's reading."

Doyle smirked, but added nothing, continuing to read his own book.

"You should talk to her, Angel," Cordelia continued. "She's as power-freaked as you are about being stuck here."

I looked away. "We don't have anything constructive to say to one another. It's best we just leave things the way they are."

She shook her head and sighed. For a moment, the sound brought me back once again to the night before, when the two of us were... intimate... and she let out the exact same soft, sad sound. At the time, I hadn't noticed its woeful edge – I assumed she was sighing because I was giving her pleasure. Now... I was forced to wonder. Was Cordelia feeling the same lack in our relationship that I had been?

Another part of me wondered... how could she not?

"Angel... it's no big secret that I wasn't always a big Buffy-Angel Fated Sweethearts Fan. But... things are different here. The last couple of years..." She paused and glanced behind her at her lover. As if she and Doyle were just as bound in thought as Buffy and I, the seer sat up and put his arm around her comfortingly, then looked up at me.

"Buddy... I don't know what things are like where you come from. I mean, besides the fact that I'm dead."

Cordy frowned and leaned heavily on his shoulder. He went on.

"But I know how things are here. When you and the Slayer are on the outs... bad stuff goes down. Your soul and hers? Brother... they were tied a long time before the two of ya made it formal. I think it's a mistake to just ignore that. However you got here... you're here, and that's got to mean something."

I stood up straighter, ready to argue that point, but before I could, the basement door swung open, and the last creature on the face of the planet I expected to see (which was saying something at this point) strolled casually into the room.

Darla. I froze and gaped at her. She looked... stunning. Regal. Self-assured, powerful...

And souled. I could smell it, like a rare and precious perfume on her pale skin... the musk of regret and the flowery afterscent of hope. She halted at the foot of the lobby and stared at us.

"What's going on here? The tension in this place is giving me a headache. Fighting with the Cheerleader again, Angelus?"

"D...Darla..." I gasped.

She ached a finely plucked eyebrow at me. "Angelus..."

I continued to gawk stupidly at her. What else could I do? Here I was, already buckling under one earth-shattering shock after another, and now I was looking at the creature who made me... who was my lover for 150 years... who I executed in Buffy's defense... who was brought back and nearly tortured me to death...

And who had martyred herself for the sake of our son.

She stepped the rest of the way into the lobby, peering at me warily. "Did you hit your head again, Angelus? Or has this latest row with your Little Lolita Lollipop finally scrambled your brains?"

"You... you have... a soul," I whispered.

Darla flashed a questioning look toward Cordelia and Doyle.

"He's from another dimension. It's a whole big thing," Cordy reported, nodding toward the Black Annals, which Doyle had set down on the table. My Sire peered at it, then at me once more, looking amused.

"Oh really? How very... dull. Look, whoever you are," she continued as if we were playing some kind of game with her, "I need you at the Compound. The Chings are getting out of hand, and I'm afraid there'll be bloodshed..." She chuckled, "All right, so I would love for there to be bloodshed, but... we do have other priorities right now, and frankly, those damned ancient Asians are so patriarchal, they won't listen to a word I say no matter how many of them I nail to their chairs. Would you mind coming down and ripping a few heads off for me?"

I felt my mouth still hanging open, but frankly, could find no will or energy to shut it. "You have a soul," I repeated.

Darla turned once more to the others, who shrugged in response.

"I think he said you're dead there. Again," Doyle informed her.

"Alternate reality, you say? Hm," she purred, slowly looking me up and down. "You too have a soul, my dear, or have you forgotten?"

"He's still Angel," Cordy cut in, "Just... weirder."

Wesley appeared in the office doorway. When he noticed Darla, it was impossible to ignore the way his usually placid face lit with almost childlike joy. A smile spread across her lips as she felt his arrival, and she turned to flash it at him.

I smelled his arousal flare, and hers in response. I moved my stare from Wesley to Darla and back again, hit with the sudden, urgent need to sit down.

My Sire... with a soul... and apparently pursued, or at least desired, by Wesley, the ex-Watcher and Rogue Demon Hunter. Could things in this reality possibly get any more bizarre?

((Great. Jinx us, why don't you?)) Buffy snarked across the link. ((Could you please keep your thoughts down? I'm trying to read.))

I scowled and put up my screen again, shoving away her irrational anger. What right did she have to be upset with *me*? She was the one who had pushed me away in no uncertain terms the last time we met. *She* was the one having a raunchy, abhorrent "affair" with an amoral, irredeemable, remorseless MONSTER.

"Ah, Darla, good," Wesley greeted her brightly, coming to stand with us. "Perhaps you could lend us some assistance in this matter."

She smirked... but managed to make it appear good-natured. A master seductress, my Sire. "Hardly, Mr. Pryce. Dimensional shifting isn't exactly my area of expertise."

As she took an almost imperceptible step toward the Englishman, the air fairly crackled with their attraction.

"Perhaps Frost's sorcerers," he murmured as though entranced.

"Perhaps," she breathed back.

I finally succumbed to my urge to sit, and collapsed onto the arm of the chair nearest me.

"Are you all right, Angel?" Wesley asked, concerned.

I shook my head. "I don't understand anything in this world. How... she has... and you two..."

The ex-Watcher came over and patted me reassuringly on the shoulder. "That, my friend, is a very long story."

With a deep sigh, I spoke, "Oh, good. We definitely need another one of those."

Too many more surprises, and I might become the exception to the rule that vampires can't expire due to massive coronaries.


	17. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part V

"We've passed some chances  
With our eyes to the ground.  
It only takes a minute  
To see what's around.  
But instead we choose to reside  
In the corners of our minds..."

I couldn't block Angel out totally anymore. I tried – really, really hard, but – he was spun by one shock after another, and his thoughts were broadcasting like his brain was holding a bullhorn next to my ear. And screaming into it.

God, this place was going to drive us both nuts.

I wasn't actually reading, of course. I tried to... but after I read the same paragraph like, 400 times in a row, I gave up and just stared out the French Doors at the rainy Los Angeles afternoon.

When Willow first dragged me back, I was totally wigged with how ugly and harsh this world I was supposedly born to protect was. Everything was so loud, so bright, so harsh and sharp. And while I was in constant pain outside, inside I was just... numb.

Then I found out Spike could hit me. That was just...

It sucked, is what it did. All of a sudden, I wasn't just empty anymore. There was something really, seriously wrong with me. And after what happened the last time I saw Angel...

God, what was I supposed to do? I just... I wanted to feel something -- *anything* besides lost and dead inside. And when I was fucking Spike...

Yeah, it was wrong. It was horrible and nasty and putrid. But it was *something* when I had nothing else. Not even the man I thought, in my heart of hearts, I could always count on.

What was I supposed to do? Just... wither away and die... again?

Now, there I was, in a reality where everything was completely different. Better. Almost like...

Heaven.

And all Angel wanted to do was get away from me as fast as he possibly could.

Okay, so... that wasn't exactly fair. There was his son...

Which was another revelation I could barely wrap my mind around. On one hand, I was overjoyed for him... to have a dream like that come true beyond his wildest imaginings? But on the other... I was angry about that, too. I mean, I remember, when he and I first got together... how much it hurt to think that all of the beautiful dreams *I* had for him and I could never come true. I was so young and naïve... and some part of me wanted more than anything to be normal. To be normal with him.

But as time went by... even after... everything. When he came back from Hell... I realized that I loved him too much for any of the things we couldn't have to matter. So what if we could never have a house in the 'burbs with 2.5 kids, a minivan, and a dog? At least we'd have each other. I honestly didn't even care about the sex.

Well... maybe "didn't care" was pushing it, but...

Guess it was just me he was star-crossed with, huh?

I felt him enter the room, then, as if my anger had called him. And I heard what he thought as he saw me.

((God, look at her. She's so beautiful. Has she always been this lovely? How could she let him touch her?))

I was frowning so fiercely, my face hurt. And that didn't even come close to the ache in my heart.

"I can hear you, you know," I grumbled, not turning away from the window, keeping my eyes on the book.

"Sorry," he replied softly, and wandered over to the bookshelf near the bed. He browsed the selections as if he was looking for something he needed. Which was stupid, because that bookshelf didn't have a *single* reference book on it, let alone anything like "Dimensional Crapholes for Dummies," which was what we really needed right then.

When I had looked up there, it almost made me cry all over again. The books lined up so carefully on the shelves were like a portrait of everything the other me shared with the other him. There were first edition Voltaires and antique Shakespeare copies with leather covers, mixed in with smutty vampire romance novels. Books of classic poetry in Greek and French, next to Vogue's 2001 Manual of Simple Chic, and a few journals with my handwriting in them.

I'd left those last alone. I didn't want to read how the other me had everything I ever dreamed of, while I had less than squat.

I could still feel Angel's anger... taste that little undercurrent of confusion and hurt. I could feel how worried he was about Connor. How disillusioned he was with me.

I figured Hell couldn't get much worse than this.

"Well, at least the other you's reading tastes are the same," he commented lamely, his pain leaking into his voice despite his best attempt to sound detached.

"Mm," I replied, wishing he would just go away and leave me alone. But for some reason, I didn't let the block down enough for him to hear that wish. Probably because it wasn't what I really wanted. What I wanted was for him to stop being angry with me... stop passing judgment on me. Stop wishing he was anywhere but here...

A couple of really tense minutes crawled by before he spoke again. Time when I could hear him arguing with himself about what to say... what to do to make some kind of peace between us.

"I'm surprised you didn't go back to school. You'd said you wanted to."

I finally put the book I wasn't reading down and turned to look at his back. "Yeah, well... I was pretty busy, what with raising Dawn... and the Dying. Who's got time?"

It came out meaner than I meant it to. Sharper, like I was trying to hurt him as much as he was tearing me apart inside.

Then his next thought slammed into me. He must have meant it to, it was so loud and clear:

((And having sex with Spike. Don't forget that little distraction.))

I lost it.

"Don't keep it to yourself, Angel," I snapped, "Why don't you just say what you're thinking?"

He didn't turn around, but I saw his shoulders tense. "I'm not thinking anything."

"Did you forget I can read your mind?" I got up and grabbed him, forcing him to look at me. "Come on, don't be shy! Say it! No secrets here! I'm a SLUT. I'm a WHORE. I'm debasing myself by fucking evil monsters! I'm a disgrace to my Calling, and everything we fight for. SAY IT!"

He gave me a disgusted look, and yanked out of my grip, stomping to the opposite side of the room.

"Why should I? You express it so much more eloquently than I ever could," he snarled with a cold disdain that gutted me like a sword.

"Fuck you," I said, my voice breaking.

"I beg your pardon?"

"YOU HEARD ME!" I shrieked, flinging the book at him. Being more than a little off my game, it smacked harmlessly against the wall behind him. "Who the HELL do you think you are? Where the HELL were you when I DIED? Where were you when Willow and Xander decided it was a good idea to drag me out of..." I stopped. No way was I going there. "You barely said boo to me when I came back! 'Oh, hey, Buffy, nice to see you're not dead anymore.' Besides – you are REALLY not in any position to judge me! At least *I* won't lose my SOUL by being stupid and selfish!"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "No? You don't think so? Is that why there's a big, thick, black pool of *sludge* seeping through your heart? Because your *soul* is so *safe*? You're *drowning* in it, Buffy, and you're not even trying to stay above water."

"Maybe. But at least I'm HONEST about it! At least I KNOW what I'm doing! What, was all that 'you deserve a normal life' bit a big load of crap you made up just to get rid of me so you could go out and bang the next bimbo who made eyes at you? How COULD YOU? How could you SLEEP WITH CORDELIA!?"

He froze, then softened. "That's not fair. It's different."

"Really? Well, fill me in, Mr. Kettle, because I'm just DYING to hear HOW!"

Angel stood there, staring at me, shaking like a volcano about to erupt. I think I was more afraid of him in that moment than I ever had been when he lost his soul.

Then, he did explode.

"BECAUSE CORDELIA ISN'T A BARELY LEASHED, BLOOD-THIRSTY ANIMAL! Because I don't LOVE Cordelia with everything inside of me! Because I haven't ached and bled and cried myself sick practically every night for the past three YEARS for MISSING Cordelia! Because..."

He caught himself, and trailed off... but not in time to stop his thought:

((Because Cordelia didn't die on me.))

I laughed... and sobbed at the same time. "Oh, right. Sorry about that. Didn't mean to inconvenience you by dying to save the WORLD or anything." I turned away from him. "Just leave me alone, Angel. I'm sure Wesley will figure out how to get you back to your happy little family, and then we can just forget this whole nightmare ever happened."

((Forget how it felt to wake up in your arms...))

I didn't know whose thought that was. And I didn't care anymore.

He didn't move. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I just... I don't understand how you could..."

I was trembling so intensely I could barely stand up anymore. I was fighting to stop crying. Fighting the urge to jump on him and beat the crap out of him like I had Spike not so long ago.

But most of all, I was struggling against the desperate need I could feel welling up inside of me – to fling myself into his arms and sob until it didn't hurt anymore.

"It doesn't matter," I whispered, "None of it does. You were right, you know. Even more now than you were when you said it. We don't belong in each other's worlds anymore. You don't owe me anything."

Before I could take another breath, he was standing in front of me, his pain pounding through my blood, his own tears splashing on my ((his)) shirt. He tilted my chin up so gently, so tenderly with a single fingertip, and the look in his eyes, the grief in his heart, just made me sob harder.

"You're wrong," he answered softly, sliding his thumb through the trail of tears on my cheek. "No matter what's happened between us... I owe you everything. It just... Buffy, it kills me to think of that... thing touching you. It kills me, over and over again, to think that I left you so you might have something better... and this is what you've been reduced to. And most of all, it kills me to think that you were in that much pain the last time I saw you... and I was too blind to notice it."

I shook my head and averted my gaze. "It's not your fault. I was hiding it from myself, then."

Angel took a deep, shuddering breath, and wrapped his arms around me, finally holding me the way I needed him to for so long. We stood there for... forever, I think, before he spoke again.

"I wanted... I wanted to forget you. I wanted the pain to stop. Cordelia..."

I pulled away, out of that safe embrace that I had almost forgotten, for a minute, wasn't mine to take refuge in anymore. "Don't. I don't want to know."

"Buffy..."

"NO!" I cried, backing away from him. "I can't! I can't handle that on top of everything else! Please, just let it go!"

For a split second, I felt a flash of his pain, and then the door shut on his thoughts, blocking me out with a finality that I could hear echoing in the bottom of my empty heart.

"Fine. Okay," he whispered.

"Good," I said, "There's no reason to go through all this, Angel. It's over. It has been for a long time. What you do isn't my business. And what I do isn't yours."

"Right," he conceded without enthusiasm. "Of course. You're right."

Then we stood there... the agony of our past a more impenetrable barrier keeping us apart than any psychic one we could ever build against one another.

"Ah... guys..."

We both turned to look at Doyle, who stood looking really uncomfortable in the suite doorway. He glanced from Angel's face to mine, and sighed.

"Sorry to interrupt and all, but... Wesley and Darla think we should drop in on the Oracles."

Oracles? I was drawing a total blank on that one, but from the expression on Angel's face, it was pretty obvious that he knew who they were – and that something horrible had happened to them in our world.

"They're al..." he began, and then changed his mind. "I think that's a good idea."

"As a last resort, Lorne said you two can sing," the half-demon added, turning to leave, "But only if *everything* else fails."

Angel and I didn't look at one another again as we followed the Irishman downstairs – and hopefully, toward a way home.

I tried to forget he was even there. There was nothing that could bridge the gap between us. Not anymore. And that fact shattered my heart all over again.


	18. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part VI

"We grow weary of gazing upon your countenance, warrior," the Male intoned, glancing disdainfully at his sister, who was fingering the Louis XIV cherub figurine I'd brought as an offering with unrestrained glee. "You seem to come to us with every small bruise and hangnail."

"We need to know why we're here," Buffy explained, her voice soft and tired. "And how to get home."

The Female glanced up. "Why would you wish to return to a world that is devoid of joy for you?"

"It's not completely devoid," I corrected her, thinking of my son's loving eyes... his soft, warm skin, and that pure, innocent smile of love he always blessed me with. God... I never thought I would miss him this deeply after only 24 hours. Of course... I never imagined we would be separated for that long, either.

"My sister needs me," Buffy added. "She doesn't have anyone else."

My heart ached for her... Buffy's life was full of duty and responsibility, but I had noticed... she didn't correct the Oracle by saying there was any joy. I wanted so much for her to have some happiness... or even relief... but there was nothing I could do for her if she didn't want to talk or listen.

"Your anger with one another is childish," the Male observed, slowly circling around us. "You squander your gifts."

"I didn't squander mine," Buffy mumbled, "As crappy as it was."

"Not death, Slayer... love. Love is your true gift. But there is a long journey to the reward, and yours has only just begun," the Male went on, stopping in front of her. "And yet, already you were weary enough to lay down your duty and die."

"Perhaps They overestimated her," the Female cut in, "Perhaps They were wrong in Calling this one. The other stands tall in the face of her Trials, whatever they may be. In both realities, she has chosen wisely in the end."

"Yes," the Male agreed, "The one called Faith. Though we question her choice of mate, she has helped to focus his Power to Good. And in the other world..."

"She repents," the Female concluded. "And restores the Balance. While you..."

I watched Buffy slowly folding in on herself, and unable to stand aside while they continued to kick her when she was down, I stepped forward.

"That's enough. She's done the best that she could. She died for our Cause. You can't ask any more of her than that."

The Female smirked at me. "Yes, well... that was another failure."

"She was not the one meant to die," the Male added. "The Key..."

"She's NOT 'THE KEY'!" Buffy shouted, snapping out of her stupor. "She's my *sister*! She's a living being, no matter where she came from. And she was innocent. There was no way I could let her die!"

"You were still given another chance," the Female interrupted, glancing back and forth between us. "You were both offered the opportunity to begin anew. You, vampire... by regaining your sanity after your attempt at suicide. And you, Slayer... by being brought back into the world of the mortal."

Her shocked gaze ticked to me, and I didn't need to hear her thoughts to know how that revelation made her feel.

"Which you have wasted by giving yourself to Evil. Defiling the sacred altar of your body so that you may 'feel' without risk to your heart. This is not the way of a True Warrior."

"Wait just a damn minute!" I interceded once more. "What right do you have to judge her? The Powers haven't cut her a single break since the day she was Called. You can't expect one woman to carry that kind of burden alone!"

I felt Buffy's gratitude rush into me like a breath of fresh air, giving me strength. How dare They condemn her for doing the best that she could with what little They had left her with?

((You mean the way you did?)) I chastised myself.

"No, we can't," The Female said, giving me a pointed look. "Nor do we."

"She is not the only one who has failed, vampire," the Male added.

I closed my eyes, feeling that guilt weigh down on me, as it hadn't since... I came back from Sri Lanka.

"I failed her. I know that."

"You failed *yourself*, warrior. Both of you. Where has the spark of hope gone that once gave you the will to stand and fight? That once animated your very souls? Even when you denied its presence... its importance... still it burned within you. Now there is a yawning chasm where great belief once lived."

I paced away from them. I had nothing to say in response.

"It's not that simple," Buffy mumbled. "There's too much..."

"Standing between you?" the Male interrupted with disdain. "What stands between you? Your wounded pride? Your fear of the unknown? Your unwillingness to try when things become difficult? Your delusions that you no longer need or desire one another?"

"Those things may stand between you... but there is far more binding you together. These foolish, weak human excuses are nothing more than that," the Female took over the lecture, "In your rush to forget the pain, you have also forgotten the joy."

I shook my head. "In the big scheme of things... moments of happiness aren't worth the cost."

The Male snorted. "Is that what you tell yourself? Fool." In a blink, he materialized mere inches from my face. "Look into my eyes, demon... and see how wrong you are."

I tried to look away, certain that whatever he was about to show me, I didn't want to see. But I couldn't help myself... I did as he bid. And when I fell into those mystical orbs...

I was huddled in the driver's seat of a dilapidated car, parked in front of Hemery High School in Los Angeles on a sunny autumn afternoon. The most beautiful, golden girl walked down the steps...

"And you loved her. A single, simple beam of light piercing an eternity of darkness. Have your forgotten how that sensation filled you? Your vow, in that moment, to always stand beside her... to always protect her?"

I broke that mesmerizing gaze, and was back in the antechamber once more. "I haven't forgotten," I whispered. "I did what I had to do to keep her safe. To give her a chance at happiness."

"Happiness!" the Female laughed. "Is that what you have given her?"

Another flash of light, and I was standing in the shadows of... a crypt. To my horror, I found myself watching Spike and Buffy...

I closed my eyes... but that didn't block out the noises... the scents of their tryst.

"NO!" the Buffy beside me cried.

"Look into her eyes, souled one. See her "happiness". Witness your 'gift' to her."

My eyes were forced open once more, and again, I couldn't refuse. As Spike railed into her, bruising her, I looked into her eyes... and saw that they were empty.

The scene changed once more to the night we met after her resurrection. I saw myself trying not to look at her too closely... saw her smile and hug me quickly, and assure me that she was "hunky dory".

But the look in her eyes was exactly the same. The realization that her pain had been so obvious ripped me apart.

"I didn't know," I whispered.

"You didn't *want* to know. You *should* have known," both Oracles chorused, "And you, Buffy the Vampire Slayer... you should have trusted."

That night. -- the night where all of my mistakes and denial came together in one crushing moment of perfect idiocy – disappeared, and I was once again looking at this moment's Buffy, who had buried her face in her hands as she sobbed in shame.

I could only stare at her.

"So foolish. Both of you. So shortsighted and willful. It makes you fine warriors, but far finer fools," the Female chided, approaching Buffy. "You too have forgotten. How once, nothing quite made sense until you had told him – the Keeper of your heart."

((You're the one freaky thing in my freaky world that still makes sense to me...))  
((My first thought is still to run to Angel...))

"I didn't want him to leave!" Buffy wailed.

I turned to go to her, but found myself alone, suddenly, in a black pit of a void...

"Witness the inside of your heart," the Male informed me. "The warm flesh of another may dull the pain, but it does not fill the emptiness."

"I know..." I breathed, unable to find my voice any longer. "But I was so..."

"Lonely?" the Female mocked. "How sad."

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" I heard Buffy shout from the darkness, "It's not his fault. It's mine. I was the one who always pushed him away when it got to be too much. I was the one who let him think he wasn't enough just the way he was. I was the one who..."

"ENOUGH!" a new voice roared, and in a flash, I was standing beside Buffy once more. Even the Oracles appeared startled.

"Holiness..." the Male began, "We..."

"SILENCE! There is not enough mortal time to waste with these insipid memory games. You cannot change the minds and hearts of two new beings with the lessons of the old. They must arrive at a new truth."

There was that damned word again. I looked down, and found Buffy beside me, clinging to my hand, glancing around wildly.

"You refuse The Call. Over and over again, you flee from it," the new voice – God? – rumbled, shaking the chamber walls. "You hide like children from that which you believe is too difficult to face."

"We just want to go home!" I shouted back at it, overwhelmed by Buffy's grief pounding into me... her worry for Dawn blending with my own for Connor. "She doesn't deserve this!"

"Deserve, vampire? Who are you to choose what she deserves, when you have denied her her heart's desire? And you, Slayer. Who are you to feel fury toward this one, whom you love, when all he has sacrificed, he has sacrificed for you? In your name? For love of you? And you spit on that gift each time you lie down with a soulless beast. Who do you think you are?"

"Nobody," she whispered, releasing my hand. "I'm nobody."

"Buffy..." I began to object.

"Enough of this inanity. You will see. You will believe," the Voice bade us. "You wish to act like children... so shall you be treated."

And snap – just like that – Buffy and I were standing in the middle of my alternate self's sitting room once more.

Her legs gave, and she sat down hard on the arm of the loveseat.

"It's okay," I reassured her. "We'll just try something else."

She remained silent as I walked to the door.

"Come on, we'll go downstairs and see how the others are..." the doorknob stuck fast. I rattled it. Nothing. Buffy looked up with a whole new fear in her eyes.

"Don't worry," I said, but the same fear was nagging at me. I tried the doorknob once more, and when that failed, I flung myself full strength against it – and promptly flew across the room, crashing into the far wall. Buffy rushed over to help me up.

"You okay?" she asked softly as I got to my feet.

Nodding, I reached out without thinking and brushed a stray hair away from her cheek. "I'm fine. But I think they locked us in."

Buffy stared at the door. "Great. Sent to our room without supper. Well, they did say they were treating us like kids..."

We walked over to the offending entrance together. Buffy reached out for the doorknob...

It vanished.

"Enforced therapy," she whispered, speaking my own thought aloud.

Throughout our visit with the Oracles, I hadn't heard more than one or two stray thoughts or particularly strong emotions from her. But now... once she heard that one in my mind, it seemed like the floodgates crashed open, and the confusion raging within her rocked me.

"Buffy... calm down," I said – maybe shouted – over that horrible chaos. I grabbed her hands. "You're panicking. Stop. Shh... try to relax. Take a deep breath. We'll get through this."

Her eyes were wide and unseeing, and I had no way to know if she could hear me or not. It was entirely possible that my mind was as wide open to her as hers was to me, and I'm sure it was no less in disarray.

"Buffy? Can you hear me?" I called frantically as the storm of her thoughts and emotions increased to hurricane strength.

((How can we do this? We can't do this! How can I tell him? He left me and I got lost and never found my way back. I want my mom! Dawnie... where's Dawnie! What if the other Angel finds out about Spike? Oh God who cares? I hope he's dust. I want my mom! I want to go home! Stop touching me! It's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real...))

I quickly led her over to the bed and made her sit down. I focused completely on her... on keeping her from entirely breaking down – which wasn't easy, considering I wasn't in much better shape. I emptied my mind of every thought but her. Slowly, Buffy came back to her senses, looking only slight dazed instead of catatonic.

"Love, listen to me," I commanded gently, "Find one idea... one thought, and focus on that. If They mean us to communicate, they must have left us an avenue in which to be coherent. Grab onto something in my head, and pour all of your attention into it."

I followed my own advice, and in a moment, the storm lessened to a dull drone in the background. Buffy began taking deep breaths, her expression finally calming, and then she looked up at me.

"I'm afraid, Angel."

I blinked at her. That wasn't what I had been thinking... or was it?

"I know. I am too," I replied, tracing the curve of her cheek with a brush of my knuckles. She closed her eyes and leaned into the caress, making my heart automatically throb in response. It was a gesture of trust and tenderness, the impact of which I had completely forgotten was possible.

"So much has happened," she whispered, glancing at me once more. "How can They expect us to just... We *can't* just... make it all go away. Can we?"

I shook my head. "No. But... maybe we at least need to try. Maybe just making the effort is enough for Them."

"I thought the Powers were supposed to be Good," she complained, her voiced filled with tears. "Why would they do this to us? Trap us in here like animals with no defenses..."

With a sigh, I moved up to the head of the bed and leaned back. I didn't know how long we had been in this reality – when dealing with the Powers, it was entirely possible that They had simply removed us from time altogether. My body certainly felt like it had been a great deal more than 24 hours since I woke up in the haven of Buffy's arms.

She turned to look at me, catching that last thought. Then I caught hers.

((That was the most alive I've felt in... forever...))

I patted the bed beside me, and Buffy scooted up to sit in the spot, tucked up close against my body. I had forgotten how warm she was... how perfectly she fit into the grooves of my form. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lay my arm across her fine shoulders. ((Strong shoulders. They bear so many incredible burdens, and yet still they remain straight.))

Or had they? What did the Oracles say? That Buffy had been so weary, she had welcomed her death?

Then I saw the scene as it played in her memory... through her eyes. I felt what she felt in those final moments before she so bravely met her end. She was tired... and lonely... losing hope...

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Buffy," I told her, pulling her tightly against me. "I'm sorry for so many things."

"I am too," she sighed, relaxing, then pulled back enough to peer up at me. "I didn't mean what I said before. It's not your fault. I didn't tell you what was going on... with any of it. Mom & Glory... I didn't even tell Riley, and he was standing right beside me... for most of it."

Riley Finn. I had learned bits of what happened between he and Buffy from her thoughts. What the selfish, thoughtless little bastard had done to her. But I had also see his last return a few weeks before... and the closure that she felt she had finally gained from it.

In my heart of hearts, I was glad that he was gone. It's petty, I know, but... there it is. Buffy deserved someone who could understand all the many facets of her personality. Who knew when she truly needed to lean on someone, despite her protests to the contrary, and when she really *did* need to process and deal alone. Finn obviously wasn't up to the challenge, if he came unraveled enough to let vampires feed off him just because Buffy didn't *need* him enough. Idiot.

But still... when I once told her that I wanted her to have a normal life, Finn was almost exactly what I had pictured. Then I wondered... had she been right, all those years ago? She had told me she could never have a "normal life". Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have stayed and tried.

"It wasn't all bad, you know," she stated softly. "Riley was very good to me."

I nodded. I could see that within her, as well.

"I know. And I understand why you didn't say anything the last time I saw you... I didn't exactly keep you in the loop, either."

Buffy chuckled wryly. "It wouldn't have done any good if you had, considering the way we both freaked when we got here."

I had to smile. "We haven't exactly been patient with one another, have we?"

"It's been a long time since we were close," she agreed with a shrug, "But when Mom died... you *were* there. I could have told you everything, then, but I was..."

"You were grieving, Buffy," I interrupted, "It wasn't the best time for a full debriefing."

"No, I guess not," she sighed, then brightened a little. "Hey... the Thoughtstorm thing stopped."

I closed my eyes and lay my cheek on top of her head.

"Maybe because we're finally making progress."

I felt her smile deep in my heart. "Maybe."

We sat there quietly for a while, letting the tension ease. There was so much to say... so many things to talk through that I didn't see how a hundred eternities could possibly be enough time to cover it all. Where could we even begin?

"What's Connor like?" she whispered from her perch against my chest.

My soul ripped open and bled once more with missing him... with wondering how he was. If he was safe. If the other me was taking good care of him.

I guess there couldn't have been a simpler – or more complicated – place to start.

"He's the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me," I told her. "He's beautiful... with these big, expressive dark eyes.."

"Sounds like somebody else I know," she murmured, giving me a squeeze.

"Yeah," I replied. "But there's a big difference. He's happy... full of joy and hope... and I swear, sometimes when he smiles at me... I'm afraid for my soul, because I feel it too. He opens parts of me I didn't even know existed."

"I was wondering about that. The soul thing... I mean... a *baby*? God, Angel, that's like... ultimate happiness, isn't it? Just thinking that you have him makes me happy..."

((and sad...))

"That's why my soul is safe with him. He's this... incredible ball of light in my life, and every time I think of him, it's practically bliss. But not perfect... because there's mortal terror right behind it, all the time. The normal fears every parent probably has – Am I a good father? Will he grow up healthy and happy? Can I keep him fed and safe and warm? Plus all of the supernatural fears: he's just a baby, and yet... he already has a list of enemies as long as my arm. Mine and his own besides. And the prophecies... we don't even know what he might turn out to be... a great force for Good... or Darkness." I glanced down at her. "You must have experienced something like that with Dawn..."

Buffy shook her head vehemently. "I don't think it's the same. I mean, yeah, I love her... with all of my heart. Obviously, or I wouldn't have died for her. But I can't even imagine what it would feel like if she was *mine*. Besides... she's 15. Mostly... she doesn't need me for much anymore. Connor's totally dependent on you."

I closed my eyes once again, the fear for my son rushing through me. He *did* need me... and yet, here I sat, living a scene from a dream forced on me like a punishment by the Powers That Be.

Buffy must have felt it too, because her warm little hand brushed my face. I looked down at her again.

"You'll be home soon, Angel. I'm sure the other you would die for him, too."

I smiled at her – in my heart, I knew she was right.

"Tell me more about him," she urged. "What's he like? Does he cry a lot?"

"Mm. Sometimes. He had colic a few weeks ago, and I thought I'd go deaf from the screaming. Not to mention the lack of sleep. But mostly, he's really outgoing and happy. He loves everybody. When Lorne sings to him, he..."

God, it felt good, sitting there in my love's arms, telling her about my son. It felt *right* -- like I had both pieces of my heart in the same place for the first time. The only thing missing was that Connor wasn't there with us.

"When we get home..." she whispered tentatively, "I'd... I 'd really like to meet him. I mean... if you still want..."

I squeezed her shoulders. "There's nothing I'd like more than to have you meet Connor, Buffy. Nothing. It's something I've thought about a lot. Sometimes, I imagine..." I trailed off, embarrassed that I had been about to share one of my sillier daydreams with her.

"I wish he was ours, too," she confided, her eyes so clear and bright and full of hope as she gazed up at me...

I fell in love with her all over again. Perhaps the Powers weren't so cruel after all.


	19. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part VII

"So I stand before you now  
Faulty but not broken  
Fragile like the break of day  
Sometimes sad like words unspoken  
But I'll let you in,  
I'll let you in to the corners of my mind."

It was... amazing. I mean, in all that time that I had been sleeping with Spike, never once had it made me really feel... better. Don't get me wrong – it was a great distraction. One thing that can be said about William the Bloody -- he was *great* in bed.

Of course, that's about all I could say about him. Being with Spike was a way to kill time... but it never really healed me. It just helped me stand still a little better; not deal with anything. While sitting there in Angel's arms, just talking... that made me feel reborn. Even the most painful stuff didn't seem so horrible anymore, once I shared it with him.

I guess the Oracles... and whatever that other thing was... were right. I told Angel things that night that I'd never even hinted at to anybody else. Funny that with all the things that had changed between us, that hadn't.

By this point, we were stretched out side-by-side and face-to-face on the bed, like the world's most ironic slumber party – but you know, without the Julia Roberts movies and mud masks.

It was the first time I felt really... safe... in years.

He asked me to tell him about Heaven. Even that, I could share with him.

"I don't really know if I can," I replied to his gentle request, "There's really no words that work. It was like... no harps or wings or anything like that, but... Everything there is perfect. It was just... right, you know? And I think the whole cloud thing is a metaphor for the Love." I smiled up at him. "Which, when you're there, seems a lot less corny."

"I don't think it's corny at all," he said softly, "Heaven is supposed to be the opposite of Hell. And since the particular Hell I went to was nothing but fear, hate and pain..." He gave me a laconic smile in return... full of horrible memories that were probably still fresh in his mind to this day. "Clouds of love sounds exactly right."

I had already cried about sending him there... a little while before. It was the first time we had ever talked about it. The first time I had ever said to anyone: "I never stopped feeling like crap because I sent you to suffer in Hell for a hundred years."

Of course, his response was that, all in all, he had been proud of me for doing the right thing... for making the only decision I could possibly make. He refused to forgive me, because he maintained there was nothing to forgive.

My beautiful, noble, wonderful, ensouled vampire.

I looked away, when he said that... and remembering things about what happened to me after I died that I hadn't let myself think about in... well, at all, really.

"I didn't want to come back," I admitted, reaching out to play with one of the buttons on his burgundy silk shirt. "I was really, really angry with the guys for a long time because they took that peace away from me."

He sighed and twisted a lock of my hair around his fingers. "I wouldn't have let them do it, if I had known."

I looked up into his eyes, and saw his memories of discovering I was dead. I felt the agony that tore through him... that sent him fleeing from the world. He watched me take it in, and his velvet eyes filled with tears.

"I thought it would kill me. I really did. Even when I cam back from my retreat... just existing in a world that no longer included you... it hurt so much, sometimes, I could barely move. Then Cordelia..." he stopped. "Sorry."

"No... you can... tell me," I insisted, even though I didn't want to hear a word of what Wonderful Cordelia had done. "I guess you probably should."

"It has nothing to do with the way I feel about you," he reassured me, combing his fingers through my hair. I had forgotten how good such a simple gesture could feel... "You know that, right? What happened between Cordelia and I... it in no way diminished my love for you."

I shrugged. It sounded nice, but... I wasn't buying it. I know... I was being petty and selfish. I should have been glad he found some comfort. I sure had...

It didn't help. "Noble" just wasn't in my vocabulary, as far as my feelings toward Angel were concerned. It never had been.

"I'm not sure how I can explain any more clearly than that," he went on hesitantly. "I don't want to make it sound cheap... or like I don't care about her, because I do. And, to be honest, I never would have survived the past couple of years without her friendship."

"I know," I was forced to admit. "I understand."

He abruptly sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "No, you don't. Sometimes I don't even think I do. It was... there was all of this... pain... I couldn't handle it. I always knew that someday, you would die. I *knew* that. I kept telling myself you were mortal... *and* the Slayer. I kept telling myself I was prepared for it..." He gazed down at me, and a rush of fear and loss plowed through the link, forcing me to sit up so I wouldn't pass out from the sudden crushing sensation in my chest.

"I wasn't," he whispered. "I wasn't prepared at all. So I figured... I finally needed to let you go. Once and for all, or it would consume me. I did a good job of it, too... the denial."

I took a deep breath and tried to keep myself steady under the onslaught of his grief... even the memories of it were painful.

Now I knew what it meant when they said death was always harder for the ones left behind.

"Hence the distance when I saw you again," I guessed.

He nodded. "It was too much, Buffy..." he confessed in a whisper. "I'd lost you over and over again, in so many different ways. I barely survived that last time, and if..." His gaze rose to mine once more, and then roamed slowly over my features, as if he was memorizing them. I could feel that look on my skin as clearly as the gentle fingertips that followed it. "If I had to do it once more, there was no way I would make it through. I had to shut the door on that part of my heart... my soul... my past. I knew I could never 'get over' you, so... I pretended it never mattered at all. That what we shared was less than what it was. It seemed... easier that way."

I looked away. "So you risked your soul to sleep with Cordelia." It wasn't a question, but an accusation.

His hand dropped from my face, leaving me bereft once more. "It wasn't like that, Buffy." He paused, but I still couldn't make myself look at him. So he tucked his fingers under my chin and lifted my face. "I don't think my soul has ever been in danger with Cordelia. If there's one thing I learned from... what happened with Darla... it's not the sex that breaks the curse. It never was. That peace you described? That sensation that everything is right in the universe? That's what Perfect Happiness is. That's what you gave me, the night we made love. Hope. Hope that I could be something more... something so much better than what I was. That you loved me... trusted me enough to bestow such an incredible gift..." He exhaled softly. "I think that only happens once in a lifetime. If it happens at all."

I listened to his words... felt their honesty flow across the bond between us. I wanted his admission to make me feel better... but it didn't. Not really. Cordelia got to have him in her life... in her bed... and I wasn't even allowed to talk to him. How was that right? How was that fair? How dare the Oracles slam us for not taking care of each other when they had made it so clear that we weren't supposed to?

"I know," he answered my thoughts aloud. "I've been wondering that, too. I think maybe... we needed this time apart. However painful it might have been... you have to admit that we've learned a lot. Grown even more."

"Yeah," I said bitterly, "I learned that I never get to have anything good, no matter how many times I save the world. No matter what I do, all I get is the shaft." I turned away from him, letting my legs swing over the edge of the bed. "So you know what I've grown? Tired. Bitter. Pissed off. And so goddamn jealous of Cordelia, I could claw her eyes out."

And there I went again... selfish. Childish. Petty and mean. I knew that... I should have been glad that Angel found so much to enrich his life, when he used to be so convinced he deserved nothing. I should have been proud – in a weird way – that I was the only one he had loved enough to put his soul in danger.

But like Spike once said... cold comfort.

"You don't have to be jealous," he counseled, scooting up behind me and encircling me within his arms. I let myself lean into that embrace... I didn't have a choice. I needed him right then, to tell me I was wrong about everything. To anchor me down so all the pain wouldn't wash me away. "You heard the Oracles, Buffy... and whatever else was there. We were brought here on purpose. To show us things were still possible, no matter how impossible they may seem." He leaned closer, and I heard him smelling my hair... felt his joy at that simple act. "I didn't want to let you go either, you know. Not ever. I still love you as much today as I ever did. Maybe more, because I know how much that means, now."

I closed my eyes, but couldn't make myself pull away. "Why, because the Powers suddenly decided that's the way they want things to be? Yeah. That's great."

"No," Angel whispered in my ear. "Because that's the way things are. The way they've always been. Don't you see?" He laid his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. "The Truth has always been there, Buffy... we just couldn't – or wouldn't – see it."

I looked him straight in the eye. "I *always* saw it. I never stopped believing in us. Not really."

He flinched as if I'd hit him. Then he averted his gaze. "I'm sorry. But I lost that hope a long time ago. It took this for me to find it again."

I watched the pain register in his face... felt it burn across the link. Maybe my own criticism that I hadn't lost faith wasn't *exactly* true. Because when I felt the love blooming once again inside both of us, it filled me with a sensation I hadn't had in... forever.

"But... you did? Find it, I mean. The hope?" I whispered, afraid of his answer.

He opened his eyes and looked deeply into mine. "Can't you feel it?" As if to illustrate his point, he took my hand and laid it, palm flat, over his still heart. And despite the fact that it didn't beat, this strange bond between us let me hear it speaking anyway. I stared at the spot... heard my own voice echo in his mind...

((I felt your heart beat.))

I had been crying. My heart was shattered into a million weeping, bloody pieces all over again. He didn't want me. He'd rather suffer an eternity of torment than stay by my side...

((It's not enough time!))

I allowed my hand to drop and shook away the foreign memories. Were they leftovers from some dream? Not that I hadn't had a million of them about Angel being human... but in my dreams, things never ended with that kind of heartache. It was always happily ever after.

"It wasn't a dream," he confided softly, "It happened. You just... don't remember it. The Oracles turned back the day so that it never existed."

Very slowly, I lifted my hand, and returned it to his chest. He let all of his memories of that perfect day pour into me. The two of us, together. Making love over and over again. Making impossible promises. I saw the battle with the regenerated Mohra... and Angel's agony over the decision he felt he was forced to make.

"You died for me," I gasped. "You could have stayed human. We could have been..."

He silenced me with a fingertip to my lips. "I couldn't have. I can't say I never regretted the choice I made... especially when you... died anyway." He shook his head. "But it couldn't have been any different. The world needs both of us at full power."

Stunned, I looked away again. I was hurt, of course. Angry that once again, he had made a decision that would alter both our lives forever without even bothering to ask for my opinion.

But how could I be mad, when he had forfeited everything he ever dreamed to save me... to save the world?

"I know..." I murmured. "I do know, Angel. Thank you."

He gave me the sweetest, saddest smile. "I guess you probably do. You've had to renounce as much as I have, Buffy. Probably more. And you don't deserve even the smallest bit of that pain."

((You've never done anything to deserve it.))  
((Neither have you. The demon...))  
((Mm. I think maybe that's a metaphysical question best left to the philosophers. I've accepted responsibility for the marks I've made on the world.))  
((But you don't seem as... buried by them as you used to...))

"I'm not," he said out loud. "I can't be. Letting the guilt eat you up from the inside never benefits anyone. It's better to channel that into action... like you once told me." He leaned a little closer, "Doing real good. Making amends. Living the best way I know how."

Pride for him welled up inside of me. Pride that he had grown so much... come so far. What an incredible man he'd become.

And I have to admit... I was a little proud of my part in that.

He chuckled softly. "I'm far from incredible. Passable, maybe, but..."

I shook my head. "You've always been incredible to me."

He stared at me for a long time. Then, he whispered, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Of course. Anything."

His gaze ticked to my lips and back again. I heard the question in his mind... in his blood, his soul. He didn't need to put it into words.

"I really wish you would," I replied.

So he did. Our lips touched, and...

I was lost inside of him. Swept away by everything he was thinking and feeling... wiped clean by that simple, gentle touch.

Did I already mention the more than passing resemblance all of this had to Heaven?

~~~~~

There were so many things still left unsaid. A lot of issues for the two of us to work through. I knew that. But those hours we spent conversing made me feel closer to her than I ever had before. Closer than I had ever felt to anyone before. I grew more certain by the moment that we could make it through.

And when I kissed her... all the problems evaporated, all the questions and anger and doubt blew away, vanished by the electric touch of her lips on mine. Maybe they would come back in full force when we returned home, but... for that moment, it didn't matter.

The link between us flared wide open once more, a conduit of pure longing and desire, love and loneliness, passion, apologies, memories, regrets and forgiveness in wave after blinding, all-consuming wave.

It was all so simple, really. So much simpler than we have ever allowed it to be. I loved her. I needed her. I wanted her. I liked, respected, and admired her. The rest was just chains I had put on us because of my own fear... the lingering phantom of self-hatred that still stained my heart and soul, despite all the progress I had made.

But as my hands wandered up her back, my fingers tangled in her hair, she emitted a little sigh... pulled me closer, and I could see into the very darkest corners of her mind. I saw how she saw me – despite all the pain I had caused her... all the times I had let her down.

She had expressed anger with me... but she had been more furious with herself. Buffy took all the blame for what had gone wrong between us. She believed there was something intrinsically wrong with her, and that was why the people she loved always left.

Everyone except Spike. I listened to her heart speaking as I sampled the warm, salty-sweetness of her mouth. His obsession with her, his blind, unconditional devotion, his desperate desire to possess her, whatever the cost. These were the lures that drew her to his bed again and again, even when she had come to the realization that the emptiness of their coupling was slowly killing her.

There was her confusion... her sense of disconnection from the world. The belief, in the most broken shadows of her heart, that she was still dead. That she had lost some part of her soul, and returned less than what she had been before.

That she deserved no better than what Spike gave her.

"No, Buffy," I whispered, letting my kisses trail slowly up her cheek... across her brow and eyelids, then down the other side. "You're worth so much more than that. He could never deserve you, and he knows it. You are pure, and beautiful, and good... even as down as you are right now, you are still the most amazing human being I've ever met. A true hero. Nothing can change that."

She pulled away, arms still wrapped around my neck. "Funny... I was just thinking the same thing about you."

I couldn't stop myself from touching her. Maybe we were supposed to be talking, but... I traced the fine line of her jaw, then tender shell of her ear, and wondered...

What would we do when we were back in our own reality again?

"I don't know what will happen when this is over, Buffy," I acknowledged.

"I don't either."

"But right now," I went on, "Right this moment, I feel so... close to you. So full of you. I..." I looked away, unable to finish the thought.

Buffy drew my gaze back to hers. "I don't care what happens tomorrow, Angel. I'll worry about that when it comes." Her little hands came up and cupped my face with heartbreaking tenderness. "I want to make love with you. I want to remember what it feels like to be whole. Complete. Right now, while we still can." Slowly tracing my lips with her thumbs, she added. "Would you? Please? Be with me?"

It's a good thing I don't need to breathe, because I totally forgot how to do it.

"You... are you... sure? When we go back, Buffy, we might not be able to..."

She cut me off with a whisper-soft kiss. "Didn't I just finish saying I don't care?" Pulling away, her expression darkened. "Unless you... I mean... I thought you wanted to..."

"I do," I confirmed quickly, knowing that although she could feel it radiating from the very center of my being, the wounded little girl inside of her needed to hear the words. "I just don't want to hurt you anymore."

"You can't," she said without hesitation. "You won't. All you can do is... help me heal."

I felt the truth of that pulsing between us, and I didn't have occasion for her to ask me again. I didn't want her to. Instead, I claimed her mouth with mine, gentle, but insistent, pleading for entrance. She let her lips fall open, inviting me in, and I pulled her into my arms.

I had dreamed of this so many times... about that low moan she made in the back of her throat as we kissed. The way she shivered in anticipation as I lowered her to the bed. My body was as famished for hers as it might have been if our arrival here had never happened. I let my hands travel longed for paths over the hills and valleys of her form... of home. I slipped her shirt up and away, revealing the first bits of her delectable flesh.

"God... you're so beautiful," I whispered in awe.

Buffy gazed up at me, her eyes shining as she unbuttoned my shirt, and I felt a flash of her exhilaration as her hands slipped inside to caress my skin. I gasped aloud at the contact, pressed our bodies still closer together and plunged back into her mouth, her heartbeat loud and strong, pounding against my chest.

Vampires are creatures of acute sensation. We have sensory memories so perfect, many of us, including myself, can recall every fine nuance of a kill long after the fact: taste, touch, scent. And as I meandered away from Buffy's mouth, letting mine taste her throat ((my mark... still there, just beneath the surface...)) ((I never stopped being yours...)), her shoulders, and finally her breasts, I realized that I had never forgotten how she felt. She was exactly the way I remembered her, to the finest detail. The flavor of her skin... the aroma of her hair and the warm musk of her arousal...

I remembered it all.

She was the Something Missing that had made my affair with Cordelia – as wonderful as it had been – so incomplete. My heart rejoiced and broke simultaneously. The days ahead when we returned home promised to be very trying indeed.

What could I possibly say to Cordelia that would explain any of this?

I nursed softly at Buffy's breast, pushing the thought away, reveling in the sensation of her nipple swelling so fiercely against my teeth... my lips.

((Don't think about that, Angel. Tomorrow's soon enough. Be with me, here, now.)) She whispered in my mind, but out loud, she sighed deeply, tangling her fingers in my hair to urge me closer.

As I traveled further down her body, tasting the silken skin over her ribcage, the cut of her waist, the swell of her belly, I couldn't help but wonder – as I hadn't in years – what would it be like to see Buffy round with my child? How would it feel to stand beside her, holding her hand, while she gave birth?

"Mmm. Sexy thoughts," she chuckled breathlessly.

"Sorry," I murmured into her hipbone, then glanced up to find her watching me, a wistful smile on her lips. She reached down to caress my face. "I think about it a lot, when I'm with Connor..."

"I know," she whispered, "I can see it in your heart."

"In my heart," I confessed, laying a trail of slow, soft kisses across her pelvis. "He is ours. I don't like to think it, considering what Darla gave up..."

"Angel," she interrupted me.

"Mm?"

"It's okay. You can't help what you dream."

I saw her thoughts... how often she closed her eyes when she was with Spike, and pretended he was me.

"Sexy thoughts," I teased her, then flicked my tongue briefly into the humid flesh of her sex. "I can't hurt you like he did, Buffy. I don't think I could do those things to you. I'm sorry if that's what you want..."

"That's not what I want. It was what I thought I needed. What I deserved," she admitted even as she gasped with pleasure as I licked her again. "What I want... what I really need... is you. This. Now."

My entire body clenched tight at the passion in her voice. Words that could have originated from my thoughts as easily as hers.

I ran my index finer down the groove of her swelling lips, listening to the blood rush through billions of capillaries, flushing her intimate places a deep, pulsing crimson. Parting those burgeoning folds, I slipped my tongue inside, taking my first taste of her since a Day that Never Was.

God, it was so different. I could taste the blood pounding beneath my mouth as clearly as her bittersweet juices. It made me half-crazed, almost frantic to slip my fangs into the buttersoft flesh and drink her pleasure from the inside. The thought made me moan as I urged her legs wider so I could thrust my tongue deep into her throbbing channel. She cried out, clutching my head fiercely between her hands, arching her hips up into my face. Her thoughts careened through me, telling me yes, here... or no... there, and I followed every urgent command, a willing slave to her rapture.

It was intoxicating... exploring every cut, turn and line of her most intimate core. Tasting the smooth, plump rises and falls, flicking butterfly kisses over her quivering nub before finally suckling it between my lips, easing three fingers inside of her wet heat.

"Angel... oh God... you feel... so good... Please... don't stop," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut tight, her face contorted in the same ecstasy I could hear humming across the link.

"I'll never stop," I vowed, and reclaimed her clit just as I crooked my fingers deep inside of her, caressing the sweet spot at the roof of her channel.

She detonated like the sweetest dynamite, her body bowing so hard that she thrust us both up off the bed. I devoured her honey greedily, not slowing my attentions until she begged me to stop. Then I looked up at her passion-flushed face, and heard the call of both our bodies and souls together...

'Come home,' they whispered. 'Come to me.'

They didn't need to ask twice.

~~~~~

I was still shivering from that first mind-blowing orgasm when he crawled up the bed, hovering inches above my starved body. I'd just finished coming so hard, I thought the world would explode from it, and still I couldn't wait to have him inside me again.

I reached between us, wrapping my hand around his velvetysteel erection, and stroked him, slow, long and firm. A shudder took him... his eyes fluttered shut, and he groaned deeply as he thrust into my hand.

He was so beautiful... the way his usually stoic façade just melted at my touch... the way he dove down to kiss me, so hard and deep, I could feel my lips bruising. I caressed him, drawing him closer to me, until the tip of his erection met the soaking wet between my legs. I stroked him up and down the cleft, and his eyes flew open to meet mine.

"Buffy..." he gasped, and with another one of those soul-searing kisses, his hands clutching my hips, he slipped inside of me in one long, slow thrust.

I know I shouted when he filled me... filled me so perfectly, so exquisitely, that it was like all the empty places in my heart, my soul, my life, were filled too. But I couldn't hear much anymore through he sudden maelstrom of our thoughts and emotions tumbling together. I could hear the sound of my own blood pumping, the cries of joy, both from his soul and his mouth as he drove, slow and deep, into me.

Angel gathered me tightly in his arms as I wrapped myself around him, and we just... merged.

I know it sounds stupid, but there's no other way to describe what making love to him was like. How it felt to really, literally, become one with him, after being so utterly separate for so long. But as we rocked together, I could see and feel every moment of his life over the past three years as if I had been there myself. I felt the depth of his love for me... his grief and loneliness when I died. I could feel the joy and terror he had been describing over his son... the pleasure and regret entwined for Cordelia. Everything.

It was amazing... heartbreaking and terrifying. I could feel him exploring my soul and memory, too... and I let him. Not without shame, or fear, but... the need for him to *know* me... know everything about me – to understand *why* -- was far more important than my pride had been for a very long time.

We lost ourselves in that tide – swell after swell of pleasure and pain, love and loss, joy and sorrow crashing, and as it all crested, as I felt myself at the edge of a great abyss of pure sensation, he pushed up on his hands and looked into my eyes.

"I love you, Buffy," he whispered, his breath fast and harsh.

I arched up off the bed, kissed him softly, and replied, "I... love you... Angel."

And we went over together, eyes wide open, gazes locked, bodies tangled. We came together... one enormous orgasm that just swallowed everything. Reality exploded into burning white light... every inch of me burst into flames, and I clung to him as he drove hard and fast into me. At last, with one long, keening cry, his body went completely taut, and he shot his seed deep into my center.

We collapsed together too, and then lay still, our limbs so tangled, I was afraid we'd never get free again.

Okay, so... not afraid, really. I could easily have laid there forever, just listening to the aftershocks in our blood.

"It's not going to be easy, you know," he murmured sleepily into my neck, where he was occupied kissing the hard tissue of his mark there.

I closed my eyes, because really, I didn't care. I'd walk through fire, eat ground glass, or live on Doublemeat Platters the rest of my life – gladly – to feel like this all the time.

"What won't? Us?" I asked, absently stroking his hair.

"Us... trying to blend our lives again. Trying to find ourselves in relation to one another. Everything will be different after this." He sighed, snuggling closer, one hand coming up to casually claim my breast. "We've only touched the edges of each other's shadows, Buffy, and back home, we can't read each other's thoughts or get mystically sent to our room until we work things out. We'll have to do that ourselves."

I pulled away and shot him a look. "Don't tell me you're wussing out on me *now*?"

He met my gaze squarely, somberly. I'm not sure what I was seeing there – or if I was just seeing so many things that I couldn't pick out just one.

But I know it scared me.

"I just want you to be sure," he said softly. "I don't want you to turn to me because you think I'm safer than Spike."

Okay, that was a shocker. I leaned all the way up on my elbows and glared down at him.

"Excuse me? Are you asking me if I'm *using* you?"

Angel looked away, but I felt it. Like a cloud lingering after a thunderstorm, blotting out the rainbow.

"How can you even think that? How can you still believe that you're not worthy of me, after you've seen *everything* inside of me? Angel?" I grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at me. "That was the first time in a long time I didn't want to have a complete nervous breakdown after sex. Or, alternately, die."

He blinked at me, looking for all the world like a frightened little boy. I loved him a hundred times more in that moment than I ever had before. "That's... good, right?"

I laughed. I mean... *really* laughed, from a place inside of me I hadn't touched since I came back to life. Maybe since long before that.

"You are such a *guy*," I whispered, and kissed him. We fell back on the bed, me holding his arms straight up over his head, straddling his hips. I felt him immediately stir against me. "Ooh. Vampire stamina." I grinned.

He smirked. "So you *are* using me. Am I your personal vampire sex toy now?"

I kissed him again. Pulled back only enough to whisper the most ironic statement that had ever come out of my mouth.

"Angel? You talk too much."

He chuckled, claiming my hip and tugging me against him. "Make love to me, Slayer. Show no mercy."

I grinned, and got a little teary-eyed at the same time.

"Are we *playing*? We've never done that before, except..."

Then, it hit me. Something I had seen and felt in his mind while we were making love. Not just the memories of that Day I didn't remember... but his feelings, after...

((Ice cream preferably crunchy perfect yum it's just right you couldn't possibly like a normal girl another one like it tomorrow not for the world more than ever I know how much I love you rather be a superhero the cost is your life the lives of others I felt your heartbeat there's not enough time I'll never forget! That's it.))

Anger. Resentment. Irrational, consuming rage for a sacrifice wasted.

I stared at him. "You died for me. You gave up your life so I could live, and..." I moved closer to him. "And I died anyway. I *chose* to die."

He turned away. "It was your life to give," he declared, so softly that I felt the words much more clearly than I heard them. "But, yeah. It all seemed like such a waste. Like They lied to me. I hated them for a long time because of that."

I climbed off of him, clutching the blanket tightly to my chest, listening to what he wasn't saying.

"You hate me too." The surety of it tore my soul wide open. Angel hated me.

He shot upright, reaching for me. "No! Never, Buffy. Yes, I was angry. Like anyone is angry when someone they love leaves them. But I never hated you." His hand came to rest on my shoulder, and it was all I could do not to shove him away. "I would die for you a thousand times, no questions asked." His tone softened, and the hand on my shoulder came up to caress my face.

"I've changed. I've walked a very different road these past few years. And I thought... somehow I thought I could step off that path and let it go on without me for a while. But it never works that way. All you get when you don't let yourself heal is hollow. I used to gouge those wounds open, over and over again, just to *feel* something. That all changed with Connor. So, yes... I was angry with you. And with the Powers. But that never changed the fact that I would sacrifice almost anything for you. That I would gladly die for the people I love, and the things I believe in."

I stared down at his kneecap. It seemed the safest place to look right then. "I'm not worth that, Angel. I'm just a twice recycled Slayer who probably should have had the good sense to stay dead the last time."

"So... you've changed too, is what you're telling me," he teased gently.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you mocking my pain?"

Angel gave me the most somber, earnest look he'd ever given me. Which is saying something. "No... I'm saying that... I think we've had enough pain, don't you? I'm saying I understand. And it's okay. It'll be hard, but... we'll find a way through the woods, eventually. Together."

((I hope...))

I picked a fuzzy off the comforter, debating whether I should share my current train of thought with him. The fear and the wondering... how could we ever get beyond everything standing between us? I mean... wouldn't that require some emotional stability or maturity or something? I wasn't at all convinced that either of us was healthy enough to do what it would take...

And then I started thinking... how could I possibly fit into his life? What would his new family think of me suddenly being around again? Would I be forced to beat the crap out of Cordelia just on principle, or would it be like back in high school, with the two of us slicing each other open with our sarcastic wit? Would Connor like me? Or would he be like... a dog with an evil person, who just freaks out every time they come around...

Angel gently squeezed my arm, and pulled me toward him. "He'll love you. How could he not?" he whispered.

And that was pretty much the last thing we said for a really long time.

It was fun.


	20. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part VIII

"Like every other soul  
You feel the night come on hard  
And go slow.  
And life goes on and on, and it goes  
To the corners of my mind."

When we woke up, Angel built a fire while I raided the fridge.

"Do I even want to know why there are so many ice cubes in their freezer?" I called as I pulled out two fresh pints of O Pos for Angel, and like 15 pounds of grapes for me.

"First aid?" he called back.

I looked at the dozen ice cube trays in the freezer... and the case of whipped cream and Hershey's syrup in the fridge below. "I'm thinking not. So... do you want cold and congealy or hot and smooth?"

"Could you nuke it for a minute or two?" he replied, brushing his hands together in satisfaction as he surveyed the results of his manly man work, crackling cheerily and warming the room. "I have a feeling our other selves have probably roamed further into the echelons of adventurousness than we have. They've had two years to get comfortable with one another, after all."

I peaked around the corner at him. "Is that a wordy way of saying they're kinky?"

He grinned at me. Okay, so... *leered* is probably a better word. "Did you look in that weapons chest? The one with no "weapons" of any sort in it?"

I quickly ducked back into the kitchenette before he could see me blush, and tried my best to block him out of my mind. "No, I absolutely did not see that obscenely large and meticulously complete collection of well-used sex toys."

The microwave beeped, signaling both blood and reheated pizza. I put everything I'd scavenged on a tray and brought it back to bed. Angel sat beside me, gave me a kiss, and quickly drained the extra large mug I'd heated for him. Funny... he used to be shy about feeding in front of me.

I waited until he'd swallowed the last drop before I spoke again.

"I think he drinks from me," I blurted out. "I mean... him... the other you... from her. Me."

Man, it didn't get any less confusing no matter how long it rattled around in my head.

Angel stared into his empty mug like all the secrets of the universe were at the bottom. "Yeah. I noticed that."

I moved a little closer. "Does it... I mean... do you feel... different?"

He didn't understand the question as I phrased it, but I felt him skimming the surface of my mind until he got the gist. Still not looking at me, he took a deep breath, and nodded.

"I was just kidding before, you know," I said, trying to keep him from clamming up on me again. "When I said you talk too much. I didn't mean you should revert back into Cryptic Guy mode."

He smiled, then finally raised his gaze. "It's just a little... uncomfortable. With us, there was just that one time, and I... it... affected me long after it happened."

I leaned my head on his shoulder. "I never told you... I, um... I..." Jeeze, link or no, talking about this was still like banging my head against a brick wall. "Ireallyreallylikedit. So... do you think the soul bond thing makes it... safe?"

He set the mug on the tray and continued staring at it. "I don't know. Maybe? From what I understand, the bond was, uh..." he swallowed stiffly, "Forged in blood."

"With Angelus," I whispered.

It was wrong, I know, but... thinking about what the other me went through to save the other him... filled me with a lot less revulsion, and a lot more... lusty envy.

And then, I got it. I literally heard a bell in my head.

Spike. With him, sex was... monstrous. I mean, in a 'Eehah! Ecstatic Orgy That'll Kill You' kind of bad way. It was all dark, all the time.

With Riley... I was practically blinded by his light. Even when he fell apart, when we fell apart, he was still so... pure. Loving. Good. It was like he didn't have any shadows at all... at least... not of his own making.

Angel was the perfect blend of both good spirit and monster. A pure, loving heart, with regrets and nightmares and shadows as dark – maybe darker – than my own. He matched me in strength, speed, and skill. And he *knew* me... deep down, in ways that no other man ever could. And appreciated what that meant, how precious that was, more than any demon had the ability to.

He caught me gaping at him – probably all Cletus-jawed and bug-eyed.

"You okay?"

I shook myself out of it. "Yeah. I just..."

He leaned closer, brushing his knuckles up and down my arm as he gazed deep into my eyes. "You just what?"

I turned slowly to face him. "I just... I think I just rediscovered something. Something... really important."

One corner of his delicious mouth quirked up, and I could see the skin around that eye crinkle.

Smile lines. He must have smiled a lot when he was human.

"Your predilection for being bitten by vampires?"

I whacked him in the arm. "Pig! No, that's not... okay, that's not *all* of it, anyway."

"You don't let Spike feed from you," he observed, watching me closely.

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

I shot him a look. "How can you ask me that? I don't know. I just... don't."

Angel's caress wandered upward to once again touch the scar on my throat. It was faded, now... so light that I couldn't see it in the mirror anymore. But I still, always, could feel it. And like it was some sacred brand or something, I kept everyone – Spike especially – as far away from it as I could.

Well, except that one time, with Dracula, but that was different.

"Someone else did bite you, though," he reminded me softly, no doubt catching my stupid idiot stray thought.

I nodded. "It was a thing... with a thrall. Not... recreational... exactly."

He looked at me for a while, without saying anything. Then, a half-hearted smirk appeared on his lips. "Almost as effective as a good beating when you're dying of a mystical poison."

He tried to make it into a joke, but I could feel the shame beneath it as if he was shouting it.

"I guess we haven't changed that much," I said, tilting my head to the side. The fingertip he still had at my neck became a little more insistent, the circle drawn a little faster, as if he was hypnotized.

"How's that?" he murmured absently, his eyes nailed to the spot he was stroking.

"We still aren't very good at sharing. Or forgiving ourselves for stuff that isn't our fault."

"Fault is all a matter of perception, isn't it?" I felt his cool breath on my throat as he bent to bring his face closer, and shivered. "Hopefully, in time, those are things that will work themselves out naturally."

I could barely breathe myself, he was so close. His voice was so low; I could feel the vibrations against my skin. And I could feel my heart, ready to explode in my chest.

"Angel?" I whispered.

"Yes?"

"Will you... I'd... I mean, I'd... like you... to..."

"Yes," he replied despite my total incoherence, and slid up behind me on his knees. His hands slipped beneath the hem of the silk shirt I was wearing, and smoothed from the tops of my thighs, up my hips, over my waist, and finally coming to rest cupping my breasts. He rolled the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and my whole body automatically thrust backward into his.

I snaked my hand up behind his head, fisting his hair, pulling him closer as he laved a long, hard line up my throat. I could feel my pulse thundering in response to his tongue's siren call.

"Oh... God..." I gasped. I had forgotten about this... the intensity of the pleasure/pain of knowing what he was about to do. I had forgotten what that night was like, when he drank me...

"No... just the two of us," he purred in my ear. The sound sent a jolt of pure ecstasy racing through my system, setting a whole new fire down low in my belly.

God, I couldn't get enough of him. It was like, every time we came to a wall between us, whether we got over it, went through it, or just skirted it completely, we always ended up standing together on the other side.

Wow. I sound like one of those Zen guys with the sticks. Except... they don't have sex, do they?

One of his big, gentle hands brushed downward and cupped me between my legs, where my body was screaming for him. I let my head fall back onto his shoulder as his finger dipped into me, plunging upward, inward, drawing my own wetness out and over my clit again and again until I was rocking back against him, moaning senselessly.

"I dream of your scent," he groaned, "Of the way you taste... all of you. I think about the way your body moves... the way you shiver when I touch you..."

"Please, Angel," I begged, desperate for him to possess me. "Please..."

I wanted him so badly... all of him, inside me. I wanted to feed him the way he had fed me this night. The way I had never thought I would be filled again.

He gently bent me forward at the waist and thrust inside before bringing me upright once more, my back pressed to his chest, his hand still between my legs.

"I can feel your blood change," he rumbled on, thrusting shallowly, quick, teasing... "I can already taste your orgasm on your skin."

He licked my jugular one more time, and I almost went over just from that. I cried out and slammed myself against him, forcing him deeper.

"Jesus," he gasped, then growled, "Tell me you want me to take you. Tell me you want me to plunge my fangs into your throat, and drink you dry..."

"Please..."

"Tell me, Buffy," he commanded, nibbling the sensitive skin of his mark with the very tips of his fangs.

A shudder rocked me... but still didn't push me over the edge. "Please. I want you to take me. Drink me. Suck me dry, Angel, please..."

He snarled from deep in his belly, the vibration ripping through my skin, pulled almost all of the way out of me...

And struck. I felt his teeth tear into my flesh at the same moment he drove his cock so far into me I thought he would split me in two. I tasted my blood on his tongue... heard my scream through his sensitive ears. I heard his throat working as he drank, his hips straining to drive him deeper, the desperate, greedy, whimpering-grunting noises he made as he glutted himself on me.

Everything that was in him rushed through me, even as my own world collapsed into nothing but the two points where he possessed me. All the rest of the thing called Buffy rushed in a crimson torrent over his lips.

It was like dying... but different. Better. Because I knew as I evaporated, exploded, metamorphosed, that there would be more after. This wasn't the end by a long shot.

Angel pulled away from my neck and gasped in my ear, "Oh God... Buffy..."

There was one great eruption of incredible rapture as he came inside of me... as we came together, and then... nothing.

~~~~~

I stayed awake for a long time, too keyed up from her supercharged blood to rest. Too enthralled by the beautiful sight she created as she slept to want to sleep myself.

And... I'll admit, I wanted to keep an eye on her to make sure she was all right. That I hadn't taken too much.

She was a little pale, but... her pulse was strong and steady, and a happy smile played across her lips.

I should have been embarrassed, I suppose. Ashamed. Furious with myself. Not so long ago... like earlier that night... I might have been. But I could see her dreams... I could feel the peace she was experiencing deep inside. We had finally completed a cycle begun between us a long time ago... and frankly, I was too complete myself to care about the "shoulds".

I could have laid there and watched her like that forever. Fate of the world be damned.


	21. The Ballad of Suckverse B/A Part IX

The next time I regained consciousness, I smelled smoke.

Damn weird thing to smell when you're dreaming of long, lazy afternoons of incredible sex with a particularly hot, amazing souled vampire...

Oh. Crap. It wasn't smoke I was smelling – it was burning vampire flesh!

"ANGEL!" I screamed, shoving him off me and halfway across the room, into the shadows.

When had we fallen off the bed... and rolled into the middle of the floor?

He cursed violently as he examined his singed foot, glaring darkly at the ray of sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. I jumped up and yanked them shut.

"Guess we were distracted," I said apologetically.

"Yeah. A little," he grumbled.

I dropped to my knees beside him and took a look at his leg. It was a little red, but nothing serious – not even a blister. The sun must have just been coming up.

"I'd just love to hear what made you choose a room facing *east*," I snapped at him. "Terminal irony?"

He gave me a little grin, and shrugged. "I like to live dangerously."

I got back to my feet. "Ugh! You are such a..." Stopping, I reached up by some weird instinct to touch my hair.

My short hair.

"I like it," Angel complimented. "It suits you."

My arm dropped to my side. "We're back."

He got up and walked over to me. "I guess so. It would have been nice if our guests had closed the curtains, though."

I looked over at the door, my heart shattering in my chest. Outside, our lives were waiting. Lives that didn't include one another.

"Funny... I can't hear your thoughts anymore, but somehow I still know what you're thinking," he said gently, caressing my back.

I glanced up at him. I knew what he was thinking, too.

"Doesn't seem so simple all of a sudden, does it?"

"Actually... it's never seemed simpler," he corrected me, and bent down to retrieve the shirt – or, a shirt... strangely enough it was the same one I had been wearing in the other reality. I took it and slipped it on, then accepted his proffered hand.

Angel led me into the most beautiful little room off of his... the walls were painted with blue skies, fluffy clouds and rainbows, fairies and unicorns and angels. An antique cradle rested near the window so that the very sun that had almost toasted him poured into the room.

"This is why I chose the east," he explained softly.

I followed him closer, until we reached that cascade of sunshine, and I was forced to go on alone.

Looking down, I saw my first honest to God miracle. Connor smiled up at me like he knew exactly who I was. And those mahogany velvet eyes... eyes I dreamed about almost every night were so perfectly duplicated... but these shone only with the happiness of the truly loved and contented. The beatific look that comes from not having a conscious worry in the world.

"He's so beautiful..." I gasped, and turned to look at Angel again. "Can I... hold him?"

He nodded, so I picked up that little bundle of What It's All About, and held him up before my eyes so we were staring at each other.

This little person was Angel's son.

"He even glowers like you," I noticed, and glanced up. Angel stood a few feet away with the strangest expression on his face.

I wondered if that's what Perfect Happiness looked like. And then I hoped the other him had taken his soul potion before tumbling the other me onto the bedroom floor.

"What?" I asked, blushing. "Is he drooling on me?"

He nodded again and reached out his hand. I took it, and he drew Connor and I into his arms.

"I'll never let anything happen to you. Either of you, ever," he promised.

And through our own natural bond, I knew he was telling the truth. That moment was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me, and I found myself thanking the Powers for sending us to our room.

~~~~~

Once Connor went back to sleep, and I reassured Buffy that no, he wouldn't be permanently traumatized by us making love in the next room, we did exactly that. Twice in long, slow, sweet succession.

"Stay," I whispered to her, cradling her in my lap. She was showered and dressed, now – a small miracle, considering I had attacked her twice during the process. "Just for a few more days."

She pulled away enough to look into my eyes, and one tiny hand came up to cup my cheek.

"I would love to. But I have to get home and make sure Dawn's okay. And you have things you have to take care of here."

"One more day," I pleaded. I could still feel the potion working in my blood. And I realized in a flash that the sensation was almost exactly the same as...

I stared at the empty vial next to Connor's blue rattle on my nightstand.

The demon madam's cosmic prophylactic was... Slayerblood?

"What? Angel? What is it?" she queried, a little spooked. She saw what I was staring at and reached over to pick it up.

"Is this that soul rubber thing you were telling me about?"

My shocked gaze ticked up to her face. "I didn't tell you about that."

"I saw it in your mind, silly."

As Buffy turned the brown vial around and around in her hand, I wondered... did Cordelia have any idea what she had been feeding me so that we could be together? Was this some kind of cruel joke?

Would drinking Buffy protect my soul?

"Okay, you're freaking me out," Buffy said, crawling out of my lap and dropping to a crouch in front of me. "Why are you freaking me out?"

I looked down at her... saw the light in her eyes. That light that the Oracles had shown me so clearly was absent. Everything else ceased to matter.

Before I could say anything, though, she took my hands. "Angel, it's okay. We'll take things slowly. I'll go home and... do what I need to do there, and we can talk on the phone..."

She went on, but I was listening more closely to my preternatural pulse. Something else was different, there. Something small was off. It took me another moment to realize what it was.

I looked down at Buffy. "Do you love Spike?"

Her eyes went wide. "What?"

"Do you care about him? I need to know."

I needed to know what to expect when I told her...

She got up. "I guess... in a way. Sort of. I mean, we have been..." She turned toward me once more. "Why?"

I leaned forward and took her hands. "He's gone, Buffy. He's been destroyed."

All the color fled instantly from her face. "He's... no. That... how can you know that?"

I held tightly to her hands. "He's part of my bloodline. I can feel his absence. I'm sorry."

I wasn't sorry. Not for him, anyway. In fact, I thought it was long past the time my GrandChilde got his just desserts. But my heart broke for Buffy. Whatever the nature of their relationship, they had been... together ... he had given her some modicum of comfort when she felt alone...

"Oh," she whispered, and pulled away.

I got up to stand beside her, but didn't touch her just yet. "I shouldn't have just told you like that. But... it's okay for you to grieve for him, Buffy. You were... lovers."

I wondered briefly if anyone had ever choked to death on a word.

She nodded absently. "Thanks."

Placing my hands on her shoulders, I turned her to face me. "Are you all right?"

Still looking shell-shocked, she met my gaze. "Did I ever tell you about Riley and Mrs. Cardboard and the eggs?"

"Riley laid eggs?" I inquired, a little confused by the turn in our conversation. "I thought potatoes rooted or something."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Ha. No... the demon eggs Spike was trying to sell on the black market."

I sat down again. "When Finn caught you in ... bed together."

"Yeah." She paced away. "You know what I figured out that night?"

"No... what?"

Buffy stopped and looked at me once more. "I knew that someday, he was going to force me to kill him. It was easy to pretend I had forgotten what he was... what he was capable of, just as long as it was only me in danger. But... then all of a sudden, it was staring me in the face. He didn't have a soul. And I knew... sooner or later, he'd have to go. So... as weird as it is to think that he's gone?" She shrugged in conclusion.

I reached out to her. She took my hand, and I pulled her back into my lap once more, holding her close.

"You're not alone, Buffy. Not anymore. Not ever. No matter what happens between us from here... you can always count on me, okay?"

She gave me a beautiful smile that warmed me down to my toes. "I'm gonna hold you to that, you know. And you'll probably regret it."

I kissed the tip of her nose. "I doubt that very much."

~~~~~

Buffy ended up staying another day. And when I called her after finding the note from my other self later that night, it barely rang once before she picked up.

Like she had known I was thinking of her. Maybe some remnant of our mystical bond?

"Joe's Pizza – will this be pick up or delivery? And just so you know, we're all out of AB negative sauce."

I laughed. "I love you, wisenheimer."

"'Wisenheimer'?" she snorted. "I thought you said you got cool over the past couple of years?"

"No, I said I've changed."

"Ah. So... to what do I owe this blatant violation of our explicit agreement to give each other space?"

I closed my eyes, letting her voice... the smile in it... wash over me. Then I looked down at my son, who reached eagerly for the cell phone.

"Connor misses you," I whispered.

Silence.

"Hello? Buffy? You still there?" I called, giving the piece of junk a violent shake. God, I hate those damn things.

"That was, by far, the corniest, sweetest thing you ever said to me," she sniffled softly. "Why can't you just be a total bastard so I can write you off and go on with my spunky new Spike-free existence?"

"Because you love me unequivocally," I teased.

I could hear her smile. "Yeah. I guess I do. Well... you know, I'm not entirely sure I came back from Heaven 100% right. My judgment may not be the best. Plus? With the Doublemeat plugs growing in my ears."

Reaching down to tickle Connor's belly, I offered, "Soak cotton balls in rubbing alcohol and plug your ears overnight. That should take care of it in no time."

She chuckled. "Thanks, mom. What, did you eat a fry cook once or something?"

I grinned. "I lurk."

"So you do." She was quiet for a moment. "I miss you too, Angel. This has been the longest 12 hours of my life. Which I'm sure is an exaggeration, but... you know what I mean."

"I do," I confirmed, and picked Connor up.

"So... are you and Connor doing anything on Sunday?"

I rocked my son gently. In a moment, he was peacefully snoozing in my arms. "Nothing on my calendar."

"Then... maybe you guys could come to dinner with Dawnie and I? Warm milk? Pumpkin bread? O pos..."

"I think we might be free," I accepted, my heart swelling, not bothering to ask her why pumpkin bread, when I knew it was pretty much the only thing she could cook without putting the entirety of Revello Drive in dire danger of massive fire. "Are you sure you don't mind the baby?"

"Are you kidding? Dawn said she'd personally stake us both if you didn't bring Connor over pronto, and *please* do NOT get my 15-year old, in-the-early-stages-of-sexual-awakening sister thinking babies are *cute*, okay? They do Oprah specials about girls like that."

I traced the soft lines of Connor's face as I listened to her. "I don't there's anything you can do about the cuteness factor. They're made that way deliberately so we'll protect them."

"Oh yeah? Then why'd they make Dawn look like a mutilated monkey butt—OW! GET OFF, BRAT!"

I listened to the sisters bickering and scuffling for a few moments until Buffy came back.

"If I was Mom, she'd already be on her knees thinking up bad excuses and begging for mercy. So? Are you up for dinner at the Summers Madhouse?"

A wave of anticipation washed through me. "We are."

"6, then. Sunday. You can help me get rid of the BODY! I love you."

"I love you, Buffy."

She hung up without saying goodbye.

Honestly? I prefer it that way.


End file.
